


Sons Of Libertea

by fihli



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Historical Cameos, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Polyamory, Slow Build, basically follows the musical's plot but with more coffee less death and a cat named georges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-21 13:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 176,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6052915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fihli/pseuds/fihli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A kid from the West Indies moves to New York City to study law. A pre-law student becomes a barista to pay the bills. A barista fights for his friends, makes his own family, falls in love a little, and gets in way over his head. </p><p>And there's a million drinks he hasn't made, but just you wait.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Completed 11/20/16!</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That Would Be Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex Hamilton meets Burr, gets a free drink, and maybe more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world will never have enough of coffee shop AUs. The world will never have enough of John Laurens in a hairnet. The world will never have enough of The Boss™, George Washington. Buckle up, and welcome to Libertea.

PART ONE 

“Hey, Burr! Aaron Burr!”

Alex skidded to a halt and immediately doubled over, hands on his knees, air coming out of his lungs in heaving breaths. He really needed to utilize the on-campus gym, or at least start jogging. Oh, who was he kidding. He wasn’t going to start jogging.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, shit, uh…” Alex stood up, realized he had said that last bit about jogging out loud, and gave the object of his pursuit his best winning grin. “Aaron Burr, sir, my name is Alexander Hamilt--”

“Okay, I’m just going to stop you right there.” Burr held out both of his hands in a _whoa_ gesture. “Don’t call me _sir_. I’m not your dad. And why the hell are you chasing me around campus?”

“I heard you’ve been interning at Edwards and Greene for over a year now, which is really impressive for someone your age, well, I’m an undergrad, and I actually just applied to Hale, Henry, and Howe’s firm and got turned down because of my age, so, I guess I was just wondering how you got hired so early? I’ve been looking into every possible way and I applied as early as I possibly could, so how’d you do it?”

“Edwards. My mother. She put it in her will before she and my father died.”

“Your mom was an Edwards? Oh, shit!” Alex ran both hands through his dark hair. Well, there went his brilliant follow-in-Burr’s-footsteps idea. Family connections were something that he _didn’t_ have. “Well, I’m sorry about your parents. I’m an orphan, too, you know, was shipped up here from the West Indies, to, I don’t know, make something of myself? Anyway, I--”

“Alexander,” Burr cut in, “ah, Hamilton? Can I buy you a drink?”

Alex stopped in his tracks, hiking his backpack up over his shoulders. “That would be nice.”

“There’s a place not too far from here, if you’re free now.”

Alex nodded, following Burr down the street, and then narrowed his eyes at him. “It _is_ like nine in the morning, Aaron, I mean, I’m all for day-drinking, but don’t you think--”

“It’s a coffee shop, Alexander, good God. Talk less.”

“What?”

“Smile more.” Burr held open the door to a nondescript, red-brick building, the bell on the doorknob jangling. Alex caught a glimpse of the wooden sign hanging outside, swinging in the breeze. A stylized American flag, weather-worn and with only thirteen stars in the shape of a circle. 

Burr’s coffee shop was called _The Sons Of Libertea_. It was written across the flag in black 18th century script. Alex felt a grin start to creep across his face.

“Aaron, this is _adorable_ \--”

And that’s when a hefty handful of coffee beans sprayed the wall behind Alex, a few pelting him right in the forehead. Burr sputtered. He must have caught a few in his mouth.

“Burr, you cheap fuck, I thought I told you to never come back here again!”

Another voice came from the back, light and accented. “Language, _petite chienne_ , language!”

“But you--”

“I said it in French, John, no one cares if I swear in French.”

“Okay, fine.” the coffee bean slinger, presumably named John, let out a longsuffering sigh. “Burr, _toi bon marche putain_ \--” 

Alex cackled. He couldn’t help himself. Burr shot him a scalding over-the-shoulder glare, and the gutter mouthed French speaker leaned over the counter into Alex’s line of vision.

“My God, does Burr have a _friend_?”

Alex’s first impression of John French-mouth What’s-His-Name was that he had no idea there were that many freckles in the entire universe. They scattered over the bridge of his nose, over his cheeks, down his neck, and they were even all over the part of his left arm that Alex could see slung over the bar. 

“We’re not friends. This is Alexander.” Burr dodged the line and walked right up to the bar, and Alex followed in his wake. The people they skipped complained, but Burr paid them no mind. Alex figured that was a perk of being a regular.

Someone else peeked out of the back room, a very large someone, with an apron tied around his broad chest and a green beanie covering his head. “Back of the _line_ , Burr!”

Well, nevermind.

Burr grumbled something under his breath and went to go stand in line again, and Freckleface John grabbed Alex’s arm across the counter. 

“Hey, hey, you can stay up here. What was your name?”

“Hamilton,” he said, and slid into one of the seats attached to the bar. “Alex Hamilton.”

“Well, Alex Hamilton, any non-friend of Burr is a friend of mine.” He took the order of some old guy in a pressed suit -- _medium latte in a large cup, 106 degrees, five shots of espresso, a packet of Splenda, some other bullshit_ \-- and turned back to Alex, making the drink and not breaking eye contact. “I’m John Laurens. Libertea’s star barista. You’re _welcome_.”

He slid the drink over the counter, the man muttered something about how he paid for fast service, not watching the employees flirt, until John winked at him. He left immediately, red-faced and flustered.

Alex watched as John worked his steady way through the line of customers, sometimes being charming -- _oh, Mrs. Ross, your art show’s next week, right? I’ll be sure to swing by_ \-- sometimes being surprisingly, scaldingly rude -- _Seabury, I told you, if you order a venti macchiato one more damn fucking time, this is not fucking_ Starbucks, _you dumb shit_ \-- and finally getting to Burr.

“So, where’d you find this one, Aaron?” John asked, tucking a few curls back into his hairnet and flicking another coffee bean at Burr’s head. “He’s not even wearing a suit. I thought suits were your type.”

“He tracked me down,” Burr said, accepting the cup John slid across the counter. He hadn’t even ordered, Alex noticed, and there was a poop emoji drawn on the cup in Sharpie. “He has a million questions about my internship.”

“Oh, wonderful, another lawyer. And here I thought you were cool, Alex.” John turned to him, the biggest, saddest puppy-dog eyes present and accounted for, as well as a pouting bottom lip. “I thought. You were. Cool.”

“I _am_ cool.”

“Alright.” And with that, John started staring at him, intently, his deep brown eyes meeting Alex’s gaze with extreme intensity. A curl had escaped his hairnet and was resting on his forehead, right along a particularly dense splatter of freckles. “Hmm.”

“Uh, Burr, what is he doing?” Alex asked, glancing to the side only to find that Burr was gone, halfway across the coffee shop, sitting with his back to Alex, the _Times_ open in his lap. He turned back to John, who had started squinting.

“Oh, he’s giving you the special.” The guy from earlier, the one with the beanie who’d yelled at Burr, ducked out of the back. Alex frowned, still keeping John’s gaze.

“Well that sounds dirty.”

“Nah, it’s just a dumb thing he does. Pretends to stare into your soul and then makes a drink you’re guaranteed to love. Works on guys, girls--”

“Everyone except Burr,” John said, still staring, “because he doesn’t have a soul.”

“Laurens…” Burr’s warning voice floated over the general babble of the coffeeshop, and John winked. 

“Okay, I got it. Herc, distract him while I prepare to blow him away.”

“Fine.” The big guy, Herc, took John’s place sitting in front of Alex. For the first time, Alex noticed that his apron was covered in a tapestry of thread, sewn in colorful swirls and patterns. It was so tastefully worked into the apron’s original design (a colonial flag, of course), that it was indiscernible from a distance. A needle (looped around with blue thread) poked through the fabric just above his nametag, which read _Hercules_. 

“That’s a name,” Alex commented without thinking, realizing only a second after he said it that this guy could probably break him in half if he wanted to. “Hey man, I--” 

“Hercules Mulligan,” Herc interrupted with a slight bow, more of a flourish, really. “At your service. I specialize in mixing tea, lifting heavy things, and fixing rips in shirts, pants, and everything in between.” 

“So that’s all you?” Alex asked, gesturing at the needlework on his apron. He nodded proudly.

“Lee hates it, so of course I gotta keep doing it. I’m going to do Laf’s next, or maybe John’s.” He leaned back. “Hey, _John_ , you want me to do your apron next, or--”

The door to the kitchen slammed open and another person stormed out, his dark hair pulled back into a fluffy ponytail and a supremely indignant expression on his face. 

“Hercules Mulligan, you told me _three weeks ago_ that as soon as you were finished with yours, we would--” He took a breath and extended a hand to Alex. “ _Bonsoir_ , welcome to Libertea, my name is Gilbert du Motier, nice to meet you--”

He turned to face Hercules again.

“--swap and you would do mine, I have been waiting for _months_ \--”

Herc looked over at Alex and waggled his eyebrows. 

“I’m in high demand. Also, I know his nametag says Gil, but we all call him Lafayette. He does food, I do tea, John does coffee.”

The other guy, the French one --Alex couldn’t help wondering what was up with these names, there were completely normal names like John, and then came a _Hercules_ and a _Gilbert, Lafayette, whatever_ \-- punched Hercules in the arm. 

“Do _not_ pick John over me, you slimy little--”

The rest of his insult was lost as John emerged from wherever he’d disappeared to, drink in hand, smile on face. He slid it across the counter.

“First one’s on the house, Libertea policy.”

“That’s not our policy,” Herc said.

“It is when Lee’s not around,” John replied, nudging the drink closer to Alex. “C’mon. Try it. Try it.”

Alex did just that, picking it up ( _okay, so it’s an iced drink. Iced drinks in the middle of fall. I can deal with that, fine_ ), taking a sip ( _this is_ freezing, _why did John think this was a good idea_ ), and falling straight on his ass in love ( _there is_ sugar _in this and_ chocolate _in this and_ coffee _in this, holy fucking--_ ). 

“--shit!” he said, going back in for another long sip. Brainfreeze. Another long sip. More brainfreeze. “This is the best fucking thing I’ve ever had in my entire life!”

John elbowed Lafayette. “Eight for eight.”

Before Alex could ask who else John had created drinks for, the front door opened, bell jangling wildly. Hercules whipped off his beanie and shoved it into his back pocket.

“Morning, sir,” John said, adjusting his hairnet, grabbing a rag from out of thin air, and wiping the counter down with it. 

A tall, imposing bald man in a long woolen coat took a seat at the bar right next to Alex. John was sliding him a drink within seconds, and Alex noted that the cup was bare except for one Sharpie-d star in the corner. 

“Good morning,” the man said after taking one, two, three sips of his coffee. “And thank you, Mr. Laurens. Impeccable, as usual.”

“Anything for the boss,” John said, saluting with his rag. “You here for the day? Or--”

“I have an eleven o’clock,” the man, their boss, said, taking another long drink. “Lee should be in around noon. I trust that our marquis will keep a tight ship until then?”

He gave a pointed glance to Lafayette, who nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes sir, Mr. Washington. I’ll keep John under control. You know, earlier this morning--”

John threw his rag and it hit Lafayette straight in the mouth. After witnessing a long session of sputtering and swearing in French, Washington chuckled and stood up. 

“Behave yourselves. I’ll be back soon enough, mid-afternoon at the latest.”

He threw his cup into the kitchen window, and there was the unmistakable sound of a garbage bag rustling. He grinned at Alex.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Uh, it’s Alex,” he said, taking Washington’s hand and shaking it. “Alex Hamilton.”

“Well, Mr. Hamilton, thank you for choosing Sons Of Libertea. I hope to see you around.”

“Wait, sir,” John said, and Washington turned back. “Remember what you said when you fired Arnold a few weeks ago?”

“I say a lot of things, John,” Washington replied with the well-concealed patience of a dad. Or a particularly resigned coffee shop owner. “What did I say about Arnold?”

“You said, and I quote, _the next person we hire needs to be a lawyer or some shit, because I’m tired of dealing with these crooks myself_ , end quote.”

“That does sound like me.”

“Well,” John said, gesturing at Alex’s entire being, “I found him! Our new lawyer! Lawyer slash barista slash French speaker, suck it Mulligan.”

“Hey,” Herc said, but Washington had approached the counter again, and was looking Alex straight in the eye. It was a weird sort of look, it made him want to run and finish his degree that very second, it made him want to write his dissertation about the effects of freedom and liberty on mankind, it honestly made him want to fight someone. It was exhilarating. 

“Are you looking for a job, son?”

“Not really,” Alex said, and then revised. “Um, well, yes, but I was looking for something more in the, ah, legal department…”

“And how are you paying for your tuition?”

_Damn, this guy cuts straight to the heart._

“Okay, fine, I need a job like, yesterday. But you really want me to work here? I didn’t even have an interview. I don't know anything about coffee except that it smells good and keeps me awake.”

“That’s really all you need to know,” John mumbled.

“You're bright, energetic, and, if you want it, I think you’re the man for the job.” Washington held out his hand again, and this time, Alex didn’t hesitate. Intrinsically aware of Burr watching him from across the room and John grinning to his right, Alex grasped Washington’s hand and pumped it up and down.

“When do I start?”

Hercules threw him an apron. “Get back here and I’ll show you the ropes before Lee shows up.”

Washington smiled at him, and something about that made Alex so inexplicably happy that he would have agreed to anything right there on the spot, just to make this man he’d just met proud of him. 

_Wow, Alex, this is your inner self. Tone down the daddy issues._

“Boom,” his new boss said, and clapped him on the shoulder. Alex just about died, inner self be damned. “Welcome aboard.”

His hand landed on Alex’s shoulder two more times, he pointed a _you’d better have everything under control_ finger at Lafayette, and was gone, the door’s string of bells jangling in his wake. Burr replaced him in an instant, sliding onto the stool next to Alex.

“So, what was all that about?” he asked, exuding a thick layer of _I don’t really care_ overtop a core of _tell me right now_. “What did Washington want?”

“He gave Alex a job,” John said, jumping up to sit on the counter. “Because… Of… Me...”

“Yeah, thanks for that, man!” Alex used the stool as leverage to get onto the counter beside John. He looped the apron strings around his waist and tied them in front like he’d seen Hercules do earlier. “Just met you today and I already owe you one.”

“More like two,” John said, “the drink. Three, I threw those coffee beans at Burr. Four--”

“Enough,” Burr said. “Alexander, you took the job? What about your internship?”

“I can still apply for my internships, Burr, I’ll just multitask. School, work, internships. Easy-peasy. I’m Alexander Hamilton, bitch!”

He leapt down, into the opposite side of the coffeeshop, high-fived John, accepted a hairnet from Lafayette, and ignored the fact that Burr was glaring at him from the other side of the counter.

“Okay, let’s start with espresso,” John said, guiding him over to the machine. “Be careful when you’re making shots, because even if you screw up, you’re not allowed to put anything in the garbage. You gotta drink it. Company policy, here at Libertea, we do _not_ throw away our shots…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Alex starts his new job, gets to know his new coworkers, and hates his new manager.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	2. Ah, So You've Discussed Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lafayette's cake pops are delicious, Charles Lee is the worst manager ever, and Burr's reliable with the ladies (kind of).

It had been a week, and Alex was pretty sure he was getting the hang of this whole coffee shop thing. The three fires and one flood he’d caused begged to differ, but hey. Everyone had to start somewhere.

He had his routine down pat. Apron, hair net (he tried wearing a baseball cap one day, but hats left weird dents in his hair), man the counter with John, help Herc unload the delivery truck, try and fix the sink in the employee bathroom, give up and rig something with duct tape that (if they were lucky) would last the rest of the day, avoid Lee, try to convince Lafayette to let him help with the pastries, steal pastries for him and John, back to the counter until closing. It was a good job. Coworkers, customers, product. Nothing worth complaining about.

Okay, he had a _few_ things to complain about.

Their manager when Washington wasn’t around was a guy named Charles Lee. John called him ‘Chuck’, but on Alex’s first day, Herc had advised him against using that particular nickname. Lee was consistently in a bad mood, consistently mean to everyone on or around Libertea property, and consistently whining about the way Washington ran his business.

“I’m going to fight him,” John grumbled one morning as he cleaned the espresso machine and Alex was stocking the soy milk in one of the mini fridges. “I’m just going to go for it. Challenge him to a duel. To the fucking _death_.”

“What did he do this time?” Alex asked, peeking through the window into the kitchen. Lafayette was elbow-deep in flour and Lee was red-faced, yelling something at him as he glared into his scone dough. “And I think you might have to get in line for that duel thing. Laf looks like he’s about to slit his throat.”

“ _Lafayette_ should be manager,” John said, smacking the espresso machine with the end of his wet rag. “I’m surprised he’s not, Washington’s basically his dad, anyway, --he named his fucking _cat_ after him, for fuck’s sake-- and he’d do a lot better than Chuck _I-Hate-Working-Here-And-Coffee-And-Washington_ Lee. I wonder how many times you’re allowed to badmouth the boss before you get fired.”

“Hopefully the answer is however many time’s Lee’s done it,” Alex replied. “What was his thing yesterday? Washington cannot be left alone to his devices--”

“His leadership is indecisive, this place goes from crisis to crisis--”

“The best thing he can do for Libertea is sell it and hope it turns a profit, which it won’t, this place is a _dump_!” They both finished, laughing. John hit Alex with his rag.

“He was on that tangent for a full, I don’t know, like forty-five minutes yesterday. If he hates this place so much, why doesn’t he go work somewhere else? I hear the fiery pits of Hades are hiring.”

“Even the fiery pits of Hades wouldn't hire Lee.” Alex snatched the rag out of John’s hand and went to work on the counters. They were opening in fifteen minutes, and Lafayette did a spot check every morning while Lee sat in Washington’s office. 

Right on time, Lafayette burst through the kitchen’s double doors, two trays in hand. He passed one to Alex, who threw the rag back at John just in time to accept it. They started setting up the pastry display (scones on the right, muffins and slices of pumpkin, banana, and cinnamon bread on the left, circular tower displays with cookies, cupcakes, and a rotating arrangement of cake pops in the center), while Lafayette grumbled under his breath in heated French about, Alex presumed, Lee. 

He decided to test the waters. “Hey, Laf, can I have a cake pop?”

They weren't allowed to touch the cake pops. They weren't allowed to _look at_ the cake pops. Lafayette’s rule dated back to pre-Alex days at Libertea, and he still wasn’t sure of the exact reason for it. 

“Take whatever you want, Alexander, _mon Dieu_ , as long as you take the stick when you're finished and shove it so far up Lee’s--”

“Mr. Washington!” John interrupted loudly, right before the bells on the door jangled, signaling someone’s entrance into the shop. Lafayette’s mouth snapped shut, and John draped his wet rag over Alex's head. “You’re not supposed to be here until later today.”

“Good morning, Mr. Laurens.” Washington accepted the cup John slid to him. “And coffee waits for no man. Mr. Hamilton, Marquis.”

He looked over his shoulder at Herc, who was across the store, lifting down the metal barrels full of tea to fill the smaller glass display jars. “Good morning, Mr. Mulligan.”

“Morning, commander,” Herc managed to grunt, hoisting one of the barrels onto his shoulder. Tea-wrangling was one of his more impressive jobs at Libertea, and he'd once told Alex that he was benching three fifty at the gym down the road, while at the exact same time Alex was struggling to lift a twenty-five pound bag of flour. He also gave John a lot of impromptu piggyback rides. 

“Where’s Lee?” Washington asked, after taking a long sip of his coffee. There were three stars drawn on his cup today, which Alex had learned was John’s code for number of pumps of espresso. 

John knew all of their regulars’ regular drink orders by heart, along with their corresponding Sharpie doodles. Washington’s black coffee with espresso (alternating number of pumps depending on the time of day) got stars. Lafayette’s soy latte got either a French flag (at least, Alex assumed it was French; John really needed to invest in some different colored markers), or a vaguely penis-shaped baguette, depending on John's perspective on Lafayette that day. Herc’s tea got a kettlebell, usually with the word " _Winner!_ " scrawled on it, Burr’s Americano got the signature poop emoji, and Lee, as a mark of John’s utmost distaste, got nothing. 

Alex hadn't figured out his own special way of differentiating orders yet. He usually just asked for the first name and hastily scribbled it onto the cup. Sometimes John added his doodles anyway, but he didn't mind. It was helping him get to know their customers. 

Alex's doodle changed every time he got a drink from John, like his coworker hadn't quite figured him out yet. Once, after he brought his dilapidated old laptop into work to sneak some writing time for class, he got an old-timey quill dripping onto an ink splotch. The next day he got an eye, complete with lashes and laughter lines and everything. The most recent was also the most intricate, the sun, resplendent even in black and white Sharpie on a paper coffee cup. Clouds covered the bottom half, and Alex had to ask. 

_“John, is this meant to be rising or setting?”_

_“I don't know, old man Ham, you pick.”_

Alex found out later that day that John was actually a few months older than he was. Luckily, the nickname _Old Man Ham_ didn't stick. 

When John made drinks for himself, he drew turtles on his own cup. If anyone were to look in any trash can in Libertea, there would without a doubt be a paper cup with an American soft-shell turtle drawn on it. The turtles kind of looked like they were steamrolled, which John insisted was what they actually looked like in real life. 

To quote Hercules Mulligan: _“You just keep your weird-ass flat turtles off my cup, Laurens.”_

Alex watched Washington take another long sip. 

“I asked, where’s Lee?”

Lafayette straightened a few of the cookies on the tower. “Um. I think he’s in your office. Sir.”

Washington’s eyebrows furrowed. “And why would he be there?”

Without waiting for any of his employees to answer, he turned and walked around the counter and into the kitchen, presumably to the back staircase that led to his upstairs office. Lafayette slammed the glass display case door, making a few of the previously-straightened cookies wobble.

“ _Merde_ , Lee is going to _get it_!”

“He is _fucked_ ,” Herc agreed, coming over and setting up his tea canisters along the back of the counter. “We’ve been trying to get Washington to catch him in the act for _months_.”

“What is he doing?” Alex asked, leaping up to sit on the counter to get a better view of Herc as he started to mix and match teas in little patterned paper bags. 

“Who the hell knows?” Laurens asked, grabbing a plastic cold-drink cup and squeezing a few lines of chocolate sauce on the inside. Alex immediately perked up. That was his drink that John was starting; _Libertea’s badass answer to Starbucks’s punk-ass mocha-chip Frappuccino_ , in John’s own words. “Something stupid, probably, Playing Angry Birds. Not being a manager.”

“Dude, Angry Birds was old news like a year ago,” Herc said.

“Didn’t say Lee was pop-culture savvy, Mull, just that he was an idiot.”

“Fair enough.”

“And _you_.” Herc pointed an accusing finger at Lafayette. “ _Your_ idiot ass never replaced the milk you used up yesterday and _my_ idiot ass had to eat dry Count Chocula this morning, which sucked a whole lot of idiot ass _in general_.” 

“I’m sorry,” Lafayette said, turning back to the display counter. “I don’t speak English.”

“Translate for me, John. Tell the marquis that he needs to grocery shop every once in a while, or else I’m going to knit a scarf out of his own hair and _slingshot him back to France with it_.”

John smirked. “Hey, Gil, _il veut votre lait_.”

Alex snorted unexpectedly, John smirked harder, if that was even possible, and Lafayette was on the floor within seconds. Hercules crossed his arms.

“You’re the worst. And I don’t even know which one of you I’m talking to. You’re all, equally, _the worst_.”

Lafayette had to use the counter to pull himself off of the ground, he was still shaking with laughter. “I’m sorry, _petit bébé_ , I’ll pick some up after we close. John and I just really wanted chocolate milkshakes last night.”

“At like three in the morning,” John amended, sliding Alex the finished drink. He checked the doodle. An emoji. The bomb one. He took a sip. 

Herc narrowed his eyes. “Chocolate milkshakes, or _chocolate milkshakes_?”

Lafayette and John winked at the exact same time, and Alex was pretty sure it was rehearsed.

“Fuck, does that mean all my Kahlua’s gone, too?”

Lafayette held out his hands in surrender. “I’ll get some of that, too. And the milk. And… What else did you eat last night that you weren’t supposed to?” This was to John.

“The corn dogs.”

Herc made a pained noise. 

“I’ll get those, too. Don’t worry.” He patted Herc on the shoulder, and grabbed one of the vanilla cake pops out of the case and held it under his nose. “Cake pop?”

“So you all live together?” Alex asked as Herc snatched the cake pop, ate it in one bite, and threw the stick at Lafayette. John slid over the counter to unlock the door and flipped over the open sign.

“Yep. Up the street a couple of blocks. Live together… Work together… Drive each other up the wall together…”

“The three of us and Washington,” Herc added.

“Washington lives with you?” Alex asked, incredulous. Washington was their _boss_ , and he had at least ten years on Herc, who was the oldest of the group. “That’s a little weird, right?”

“No, no, _mon ami_ , Georges. My cat.” Lafayette handed him a caramel cake pop as the first few customers, people Alex didn’t recognize yet, started coming through the door. “He’s a tortoiseshell. He hates John.”

“He _sucks_ ,” John confirmed, sliding back over the counter. “He only likes Laf, he only eats that dumb fancy brand of cat food, and I had to take him to the vet like thirteen times.”

“Once,” Lafayette amended. “One time. And I’ll never ask that of you ever again.”

“Oh, _Burr_ , yes, thank you God,” John yelled suddenly, over the hubbub that was Libertea in the early morning as Aaron Burr pushed his way inside, tweed coat and scowl present. “My favorite person in the entire fucking world. Hop the line, my love, come talk to me!”

“Shut the hell up, Laurens,” Burr grumbled, but he took the invite and pushed his way to the front of the line. “You’re not talking about your cat again, are you?”

This was to Lafayette, who rolled his eyes and went back into the kitchen. Burr replied with a matching eye roll, and John slid his Americano across the counter, poop emoji present and accounted for. 

“Get the hell out!” 

Libertea went silent and still. Lafayette poked his head out of the kitchen door.

Washington stormed around the counter, followed by Lee, red-faced and glaring. Washington pointed at the door. 

“I’m not going to stand here and watch you shit the bed with my business, Lee! Now get out of my establishment and don’t come back until you’re serious about putting in some fucking _effort_.”

Washington pointed, more forcefully this time, at the door, and Lee flinched before racing for it. People, coffee cups in hand, parted for him like the Red Sea. The door slammed in his wake.

The entire population of the shop turned to look at Washington, who held his arms wide.

“Good morning, everyone. Welcome to Libertea.”

John applauded. Everyone else stayed silent.

Washington dropped his arms, grabbed an apron off of the rack near the kitchen door, and went behind the counter to stand next to Alex. The next hour was the quickest hour Alex had ever spent working; the high from watching his boss yell at Lee was incredible, and he and John, with Washington’s help, went through customers like it was their job (which, technically, it was). Herc managed to sell six full-sized bags of his mixed tea, and Lafayette’s cake pops were gone within the first half hour.

Burr kept his seat at the very end of the bar, nursing his Americano and making comments to John whenever he was sure Washington wasn’t listening. Alex wasn’t sure what his relationship with the shop owner was, but it seems like he actively avoided him. 

Eventually, Alex caught Washington giving Burr a very meaningful look, a _you’ve-been-sitting-there-long-enough_ sort of look. Burr tossed his now-cold cup in the trash, gave Washington a more subdued but still angry look of his own, and, without a word, made for the exit. 

“Close the door on your way out,” Washington said after him.

“Damn, what’s that all about?” Alex asked John under his breath. John nudged him.

“Tell you later. I need two green tea lattes, ask Herc to show you how to make them. I’ll do the double espresso.” And then it was back to business as usual.

Outside of Libertea’s main window, underneath the flag sign, Alex caught a glimpse of Burr bumping into someone, except that it looked like he did it on purpose. He grabbed her hand, kissed it, and spun her around. She was gorgeous, which meant he _definitely_ did it on purpose.

Her dark hair was pulled back away from her face, her lips were red and glossy, and she was wearing a light pink coat that was probably not appropriate for the weather. It didn’t matter. She glowed. 

Even glaring and saying something --Alex only caught the words _disgust me_ through the window, sue him, he was terrible at reading lips-- she glowed. 

He nudged John and pointed out the window.

“Who is that?”

John followed his finger’s trajectory. “Huh. Never seen her before in my life. Doesn’t come in here, believe me. I’d know.”

“Whoever she is, she just hardcore rejected Burr.”

“ _Ha_. Good for her.”

Alex craned his neck to try and catch another look, but all he saw was the back of her head and two other girls walking with her. One had a yellow bow in her dark hair, and the only thing he saw of the other was a glimpse of her blue skirt before she turned a corner, out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Samuel Seabury's iPad gets a drenching, Burr observes, Lee gets his.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	3. Tear This Dude Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samuel Seabury reveals the plot to get rid of Libertea for good. Burr's there, for some reason. Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy pay the coffeeshop a visit, and Lee comes back to work.

Alex kept an eye out for the three mysterious girls he'd watched Burr interact with, but two whole days went by and he didn't see any of them. Burr was avoiding Libertea as well, which was strange. Alex was sure that he'd whither away and die without a daily Americano. 

“Maybe he started going to Starbucks,” he commented to John, during the post-noon lull on the third day without Burr or the three girls. John snorted into his drink (caramel coffee with _way_ too much milk). 

“Starbucks sucks, Alex, even Burr knows that.” 

“You're just saying that ‘cause you're biased. I used to drink Starbucks all the time, before--”

“Before you stepped foot in here and John motherfucking Laurens made you the best damn drink you've ever put your sweet lips on, right?” 

Alex raised both eyebrows. “Sweet lips?”

“The _sweetest_.” John winked. 

“Burr’s got to come in sooner or later,” Alex continued, artfully changing the subject. “I want to ask him about those girls he was talking to the other day.”

“Oh, that'll go over well. _Hey, Aaron, tell me about those girls that ruthlessly rejected you_ \--”

Alex crossed his arms. “Well I'd word it better than that.”

“ _Hey, Aaron, tell me about those girls I've been stalking for three days_ \--”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up, John, or else I’m going to go hang out with Laf in the kitchen.”

“ _Hey Aaron, I want to get rejected, too_ \--”

Alex threw the last of the empty cups he’d been stacking at John’s head, and made good on his word. Ducking into the kitchen, the sight of Lafayette and Herc, heads bent solemnly over Lafayette’s iPad, made him stop in his tracks.

“Uh, guys, what’s up?”

“Oh, Alex, come here, come here,” Herc said quickly, beckoning him over. “I thought you were Washington. Oh, man, we’d have gotten our asses handed to us.”

“Why, ‘cause of the iPad?” Alex asked. “I thought Mr. Washington was okay with technology as long as no one’s in the store. John’s on his phone, like, all the time.”

(It was true. Alex didn’t know who he was texting at all hours of the day, because the only other people he’d seen John be even mildly nice to were also working in the same place he was. Maybe he wasn’t texting. Maybe he was secretly Libertea’s Flappy Bird champion.

Alex was one hundred percent sure that John would kill him if he ever heard Alex say that out loud.)

“Nah,” Herc said, sliding the iPad across the table, through some flour, despite Lafayette’s sharp intake of breath. “Because of what we’re watching.”

Alex internally cringed. _What could they possibly be watching--_ “What is it?”

“See for yourself.”

Lafayette leaned across the table and tapped the red _play_ icon on the Youtube video. Alex leaned down to watch, but leaned back up almost immediately.

“I recognize that dude.”

“Samuel Seabury,” Herc said, nodding, as one of their semi-regulars, Seabury, introduced whatever he was talking about. Some realtor’s agency or something else Alex didn’t think he’d ever be watching a video on. “He works for a real estate agency called _All The King’s Men_ , or, as John abbreviates it, _those fuckers_.” 

“Why do you guys hate these guys so much?”

“Washington,” Lafayette explained, pausing the video. “He hates the guy who owns the agency, George King the third.”

“They’re both named George? That sucks.”

“Tell that to Washington,” Herc butted in. “They were partners in the real estate game until King’s underhanded tactics drove Washington out. He started Libertea, and King’s never gotten over the fact that he’s actually doing pretty good.”

“Pretty good?” Alex asked incredulously. “Have you _seen_ our books? We’re doing _way_ better than this George King guy.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Lafayette tapped the _play_ icon again.

“--just acquired the rights to Philadelphia Bagels and Back Bay Recording Studio,” Seabury was saying. Alex liked his pretentious accent even _less_ when he was on video. “They will be up for rent at the end of the month! This has been a message from George Ki--”

Lafayette tapped the close icon with more force than necessary. “You know where Philly Bagels and Back Bay Studio are, right?”

“To our left…” Alex said slowly. “And to our right.”

“He’s literally flanking us,” Herc agreed.

“You don’t think he’s coming for our building,” Alex asked, leaning back against the refrigerator. “Do you? I mean, who does Washington rent from now?”

“New York Congressional Realtors,” Lafayette answered.

“They screw him over every once in a while,” Herc chimed in, “but not nearly as much as King would. And, you know, they’re mortal enemies. To Washington, paying rent to King would be worse than, I don’t know…”

“Chopping off his own hand,” Lafayette offered.

“Walking on hot coals,” Alex said.

“Fucking a horse,” Herc said.

Alex’s head turned at the same time Lafayette’s. 

“What?”

“ _Quelle_?”

“Nothing.” At that very second, saving Herc from what was about to turn into either a deadly serious question-and-answer time or a full-on roast session, John burst through the kitchen door.

“Holy shit, guys, get out here before I slit Seabury’s throat and he bleeds out all over the bar, because Washington would make me clean it up and that is _not_ happening today!” 

“Seabury’s here?” Herc practically dove over the table. “Oh, it’s going _down_!”

Lafayette grabbed his iPad, set it gently on top of the fridge, and dashed out the door, Alex on his heels and Herc not far behind him. Seabury was there, at the counter, his arms crossed and a supremely disdainful expression on his face. 

He arched an eyebrow. “Did you find my venti macchiato back there?”

“This isn’t fucking _Starbucks_!” John lunged forward, teeth bared, and Herc had to grab him around the waist to keep him restrained. Seabury actually took a step back. Behind all of this, Burr slipped into the mostly-empty Libertea, his eyes shifting around like he knew he wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Aaron Burr, sir--” Alex tried to peer around Seabury, but he moved to block him.

“My _drink_?”

Alex groaned. “Okay, okay, what do you want? A macchiato?”

“Yes. But I don’t want you to make it.” Seabury pointed over Alex’s head, right at John, still squirming halfheartedly in Herc’s grip. “I want _him_ to make it.”

“You can go to hell,” John spat out.

“I’m making your drink,” Alex said, grabbing one of the large paper cups and pouring a measure of milk into the bottom. “I’m making your drink so you can get the hell out of our store. And, pro tip? Go to Starbucks next time.”

A slow smirk crept across Seabury’s face. “But I need to support my boss’s business ventures, you know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Herc asked from behind Alex.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Seabury pulled his own iPad out of his shoulder bag, unlocking it with the loudest noise Alex had ever heard. He turned on the espresso machine just to block out the sound of his typing. “My boss, George King the third, recently acquired the deed for this building--”

“Fuck,” Herc whispered.

“And he asked me to draw up a proposal.”

“A proposal for what?” Lafayette asked warily.

“What to do when your boss fails to pay rent. Even a day late, and Mr. King will raze this place to the ground and build something a little more… Community friendly.” He gave John a pointed glare, and Alex felt his blood begin to boil.

“Heed not the rabble screaming for caffeine,” he began, speaking loudly over the whirr of the machine. “They don’t have this establishment’s best interest at heart.”

“Oh my God,” Alex heard John mutter around Herc’s arm. “Alex, tear this dude apart.”

“This establishment brings in no profit, their marketing leads people astray…” Seabury swiped a page on his iPad. “At the first sign of failure, show them no mercy--”

“Alright,” Alex said, gritting his teeth and slamming Seabury’s drink onto the counter, hard enough to send flecks of coffee spraying all over the wooden surface. “That’s _enough_ \--”

“Alex.” Burr ducked around Seabury. “Let him be.”

“You know nothing about what we do here,” Alex said, ignoring Burr and pushing the cup closer to Seabury. “You’re in here every morning, just like the rest of them, drinking John’s coffee and eating all the stuff Laf bakes, and--”

“ _The community’s interests_ \--”

“We’re not the flashiest place, but our coffee is damn good, our books are impeccable, and your boss can come down here himself and we’d blow him away--”

“ _No profit_ \--”

Alex growled, deep in his throat. “If you repeat yourself again I’m gonna--”

Burr slammed his open palm on the counter. “Alexander, _please_!”

Spinning towards Burr, Alex flung his arms wide. “Burr, quit fucking around, I’m trying to make a point!”

“This entire place--” Seabury began, and Alex’s vision went scorching red. He reared back and flung the entire macchiato into Seabury’s chest, ducking as it exploded, drenching Seabury, his iPad, and part of Burr’s sleeve. 

Everything stopped, until John laughed, one rough, surprised cackle that came from the depths of his throat. 

“Get out of here, you dick!”

With the reverie broken, Lafayette whooped loudly and Herc roared, slapping Alex on his back. Seabury grabbed an entire dispenser of napkins before wheeling around and making for the door as quickly as he could.

“You’ll regret this,” he said, before slamming the door after him.

“Yeah, yeah, I can tell you watched _Top Ten Movie Villain Catchphrases_ on YouTube last night,” Alex said to the closed door, clenching and unclenching the hand that had thrown the drink. Herc clapped him on the shoulder two more times, and Lafayette and John were still laughing in the background.

Burr raised his eyebrows and Alex slid him some napkins.

“Sorry, you kind of got caught in the splash zone.”

Most of the macchiato had rolled off of Burr’s coat, anyway, and was on the floor. He dropped a bunch of napkins onto the spill and stepped on them. Alex watched as he swept his foot around, catching all of the droplets.

“That was an idiot’s move.” 

“I can make my own decisions okay, Aaron? And one of them included flinging coffee at an asshole who was insulting my friends and where I work. Okay?”

“I don’t think you should take King and his lackeys lightly, that’s all.”

“Who’s side are you on?” John asked, coming up beside Alex, standing close enough that they were pressed together, side by side, John’s freckled arm leaning on the counter right beside Alex’s. “You’re a regular here, Burr, and this jerk wants us shut down. You gotta pick a side.”

“I’m not waging war with you against your landlord,” Burr said, like it was his final ruling on the subject. Alex picked a blueberry scone out of the display case and slid it towards him. A peace offering.

“If you stand for nothing, Burr, what’ll you fall for?”

John bumped him with his elbow.

“Good one.”

The bells on the door jangled as Washington pushed his way in, phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder, eyes stormy and distant. 

“Yes, I hear you. Yes, I can hear you. No, I do _not_ fucking agree. No, I will not sign anything without you and a lawyer present. I will _not_ be screwed over.”

Alex glanced behind him, Lafayette’s eyes were wide and Herc looked nervous. Washington stormed into the kitchen without acknowledging any of his employees, and Alex heard his footsteps go up the stairs and the door to his office slam shut.

“I’m guessing he heard about King’s takeover,” Burr commented, mouth full of blueberry scone. 

“Jee, you think?” John rolled his eyes. “This sucks. There’s no way we can keep up with King’s crazy rent hikes, we sign his contract and we’re done.”

“Is there any way to get out of signing?” Herc asked.

“Well, his company owns the building, right?” Alex stole the left corner of Burr’s scone, and he scowled. “We’d have to go over his head. Buy the building ourselves.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Burr said.

Washington’s footsteps sounded on the staircase again, and everyone perked up. John straightened his shoulders, Lafayette re-tied his apron, Burr swept all of his scone crumbs into the trash. Washington exited the kitchen and walked around the counter.

“I assume you heard from our new landlord.”

“Seabury may or may not have paid us a visit,” John replied. Someone --either Lafayette or Herc-- kicked Alex’s shin. “Is it true that he wants us to sign a rent agreement?”

“The new rent price is our original price, times two.” Washington looked up at the ceiling, at the red brick walls, the huge colonial flag hung across the back wall. The specials board, which John redrew every morning, had the drink of the day --Herc’s new oolong blend-- as well as a doodle. A broken coffee cup with a speech bubble that said ‘ _I’m on my coffee break_ ’. 

Washington took a deep breath. “I have a few ideas. Just sit tight, do your jobs, and don’t talk to anyone else about this.” He looked pointedly at Burr.

“Yes, sir.” John and Lafayette said at the same time.

“And one more thing; has Lee shown his face yet?”

“No,” Herc said. “Haven’t seen him since, well…”

“That’s fair.” Washington turned to leave. “Text me if he shows up. He’s not coming back to work until I have a talk with him. Have a good night, gentlemen. And…” He looked back over his shoulder. “Thank you all very much. I appreciate everything you do here.”

The door closed before Alex realized that he’d just had the happiest moment of his entire life. John nudged him.

“Yo, Ham, you’ve been standing in the same place for, like, three entire minutes. Are you broken? Need some espresso?”

“Uh…” Alex mentally shook himself. “No. No thanks, John, I’m good. Burr, don’t _leave_!”

Burr was halfway into his coat and halfway out the door. He paused. “What do you want, Alexander? Some of us have papers to write, internships to ace, lives to live. Don’t you have coffee to burn?”

“That was _one time_ , Burr, and you can’t leave because you gotta tell me about those girls you were talking to the other day. There was one with curly hair and a pink coat, and there were two others with her...” Alex trailed off as someone pushed past Burr in the doorway, hiking the strap of her leather purse higher onto her shoulder. It was her, the girl who rejected Burr, and her lips were just as glossy and her hair was just as curly as Alex remembered. 

Burr raised an eyebrow and moved back into Libertea, taking his seat at the far end of the bar once again. John slid him another scone, but Alex wasn’t paying attention to that. Another girl had entered right behind the first, her sleek, dark hair pulled half-back, and her white blouse tucked into her high-rise jeans. 

She nudged the first girl, the pink coat. “See, this place isn’t so bad.”

“It smells like burnt coffee in here, Eliza,” Pink Coat said, shrugging off said pink coat to reveal a maroon patterned dress. “I miss Starbucks.”

“Starbucks sucks,” John said loudly from behind the counter. “And Alex burnt the coffee, not me. What can I get y'all?”

Pink Coat and the other girl, _Eliza_ \--the one with the dark eyes framed by dark lashes and the light, silvery voice that made everything sound as poetic as an Adele song-- approached the counter. Pink Coat looked John straight in the face.

“The only reason I’m here right now is that there’s a rumor going around that the Starbucks right down the block, the one on the corner, has rats. I am not drinking rat poop coffee.” She glared at John, and Alex could feel the withering heat of it from where he was standing. “You don’t serve rat poop coffee, do you, _John_?”

He took a step back. “How do you know my name?”

She arched a brow. “You’re wearing a nametag.”

“Damn it.” John took a step back and tugged Alex in front of him. “You take them, Alex, it’s too early for this.”

“It’s two in the afternoon,” Pink Coat said, her sarcasm singing Alex’s eyebrows, but John had ducked down behind the espresso machine (he always went there when he didn’t want to deal with customers; he claimed to be _fixing_ it but Alex knew he had a bag of chocolate covered coffee beans and his phone back there). 

Alex slid a cup of black coffee across the counter as he looked at her, taking in her dark eyes, her squared shoulders, the slight tilt of her chin.

“Hi.”

She narrowed her eyes. He tried again.

“You look like you’ve never been satisfied.”

She took a step back. “ _Excuse me_?”

Alex felt his face start to heat up. 

_Hey, Alex, it’s your brain. What the hell kind of thing to say was that? Are you a creep? I didn’t think you were a creep, man, but apparently--_

“By a cup of coffee,” he amended, trying to seem like, yeah, that’s what he was going for in the first place. The girl didn’t look amused. “Here at Libertea, we grind our beans--”

_Grind our beans? Really?_

“--fresh every morning--”

“Listen up, No-Nametag,” she said. “Starbucks is, and will always be, the chain that has my heart. I’m here for your caffeine, nothing more.”

“You want my caffeine and you haven’t even taken me out for dinner first?” Alex asked. He heard John laughing from behind the espresso machine, but ignored it.

“If I pay, you have to give me whatever I want.” She raised an eyebrow.

“We’re not that kind of coffeeshop. And frankly, I’m offended that you think we’d put out like that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pink Coat’s friend, Eliza, glance up from her phone and over at him, if only for a second. It was a heartbeat’s worth of time, but it was all the time in the world.

Pink Coat hiked up her purse on her shoulder and reached out her hand.

“My name’s Angelica Schuyler.”

Alex took her hand and shook it, taken aback at the sudden change of heart. Maybe she dealt in sarcasm and innuendos instead of actual human conversation. Well, he could relate.

“Alex Hamilton.”

She fixed him with a look, a soul-searching, mind-reading look.

“I’m about to change your life.”

Taking a few steps back and hooking her arm through the other girl’s, she tugged her up to the counter and deposited her right in front of Alex. She was wearing a tiny pearl on a gold chain, and a subtle shimmer on her eyelids. It was captivating.

She held out her hand the same way Angelica had done. “Elizabeth Schuyler. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Schuyler?”

Angelica took her place beside Eliza. “My sister.”

“Thank you,” Eliza said, gesturing at the expanse of Libertea, “for not being the only coffeeshop on the block.”

“If it took rat poop at Starbucks for us to meet, I’d say it was worth it.”

Angelica hit Alex with another one of her looks, this one more dangerous, more intense. It was a _watch your step_ look, a _don’t fuck with my family_ look. “I’ll leave you to it.”

She took her cup of coffee, probably lukewarm by now, and retreated to the big table in the back corner of Libertea’s customer area. She set up her area, coffee beside her, a stack of books at her elbow, an immaculate Macbook with a decal of a pink lipstick kiss beside the bright apple.

Alex turned his attention back to Eliza. “And what can I get you?”

“Green tea,” she said, “just a little bit of sugar.”

“Coming right up.” He busied himself making the drink, stepping twice on John’s foot, the only part of his coworker that he could see. Burr was still there, too, sitting in his seat and quietly observing.

“And… Green tea with sugar,” he said, sliding her drink across the counter. “But just a little. Just a little sweet.”

Eliza smiled and the entire shop lit up.

“Thanks, Alex.”

“Any time, Eliza.”

“Uh, could I get some--”

“Not now, Burr.”

Eliza’s phone buzzed, and she took it out of her pocket and unlocked it, putting it up to her ear. “Margarita Schuyler, where are you? Ang gave you the address--”

“No, we’re not at Starbucks, the _health violation_ \--”

“Yes, it’s the one with the colonial flag sign. No, Peggy, it’s not _podunk_ , it’s actually pretty cute--” She smiled at Alex. “Yes. They have mocha flavor shots. Sure, sure, okay, bye!”

Another girl burst into Libertea, a little out of breath, and Alex recognized the yellow ribbon in her hair. She had red lipstick on and came up behind Eliza, grabbing her by the hips.

“I made it! Hey, can I get a big something with four mocha shots?”

This was to Alex, and he raised his eyebrows. “What sort of something?”

“I don’t know, whatever you have.”

“Hey, John, I need your help,” Alex said, throwing a pen in the general vicinity of the espresso machine. “I need you to make a mystery drink. Only rule, four mocha flavor shots. Come on, you live for this shit.”

Eliza paid for all three of her sisters’ drinks, and both her and Peggy went to join Angelica at the big table. Eliza also had a laptop, and Peggy hadn’t stopped texting since she came in the door. John handed Alex an iced drink. He hadn’t even seen him come out from behind the espresso machine.

“Here’s your mocha shitstorm,” he said. “Oh, damn, that’s a great name. I need to run that by Washington. It could save our asses with this whole King business.” Burr snorted into his drink.

“I’m sure people are going to be lining up around the corner to buy John Laurens’ _mocha shitstorm_.”

Alex delivered Peggy’s drink --it had a, frankly, adorable puppy doodled on the side-- while Burr and John argued the merits of John’s new drink. 

And that’s when, with a crash of bells, Alex watched Charles Lee storm back into Libertea. He looked furious, red-faced and clammy, but then again, Alex couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t looked like that. He stalked around the counter, grabbing an apron and tying it around his waist.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Herc asked, leaning through the window between the kitchen and the front counter. “You’re not supposed to work until you talk with Washington.”

“Washington’s lost without me,” Lee spat. “As are all of you. Get back to work, and maybe I can --singlehandedly-- save this place from being destroyed by King. Someone has to do it, and it sure as hell won’t be Washington. He couldn’t run a business even if he tried.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Alex muttered. He went to take a step, but John caught him by the arm.

“Don’t touch him,” he warned. “Washington doesn’t know you very well, yet, if you screw up you’ll get fired.”

Alex scowled. “Someone needs to teach him a lesson.”

“Then I’ll do it.”

John lunged past Alex before he could protest, pushed his way past Herc, and planted himself firmly right in front of Lee. He ripped his hairnet off and threw it to the ground.

“Laurens, quit being a jackass and get back to--”

John reared back and Alex watched in slow motion as his freckled fist made immediate, crunching contact with the side of Lee’s nose. He went down, John shook out his hand, and pulled another hairnet out of his back pocket.

Alex was vaguely aware of the Schuylers in the background, their faces a varying tapestry of shock, and Burr behind him, wound up and tense.

John looked down at the curled up form of Lee, and shrugged one shoulder. 

“I’m satisfied.”

Lafayette poked his head and right arm out of the kitchen door, phone in hand. “Washington just texted me. He's here.”

Libertea was silent, except for Lee's moaning and the background music for Neko Atsume coming from Peggy’s phone. Burr raised an eyebrow. 

“This should be fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: There are consequences for punching a manager. One of those consequences might be burgers.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	4. Rake It Through The Mud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Alex face the consequences of punching a manager. Alex really doesn't want to be called "son". Burgers, backstories, and bros, oh my!

“What is the meaning of this?” Washington stormed around the counter, stopping short right beside Lee’s head. He was still on the ground, still groaning, and still holding both hands over his nose. Alex was pretty sure it wasn't bleeding anymore, if it had ever been bleeding in the first place. 

He was _way_ more worried about John. If Washington fired John, Alex didn't know what he'd do. He couldn't keep working at Libertea, he knew that. John had gotten him the job in the first place, and he couldn't even picture anyone else working the espresso machine. They'd probably make it wrong, they'd probably wear a hat instead of a hairnet, and they'd probably write names on cups instead of doodling tiny works of art. _Gross._

“Mr. Burr,” Washington said, turning. “You witnessed everything, you're impartial. What happened here?”

Lee was still on the floor. Burr steepled his fingers. 

“Don't be a jackass,” Alex heard Herc whisper. 

“Lee was making comments,” Burr began. “About you, the way you run your business, and the King takeover. John punched him. That's all I saw.”

Herc let out a relieved breath. Lee finally sat up. 

“I was _in the right_ \--”

“Like hell you were--” John started, stepping towards Lee, but Herc caught him ‘round the waist and held him back, putting one large forearm right in front of his mouth. Alex jumped down off the counter.

“Mr. Washington, it was my fault that John punched Lee,” he began, ignoring John struggling against Herc in the background. “I wanted to fight him, John did instead because he didn’t want you to fire me, but if you fire anyone, let it be me. John didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have done instead.”

Libertea was quiet. The only sounds were John’s muffled grunts and Lee hissing every time he poked at his nose. Washington crossed his arms.

“Charles, I apologize for how these young men acted today,” he began. “They do not speak for me, and shouldn’t feel the need to fight for my honor.”

He gave both John and Alex a very pointed look, and then turned back to Lee.

“Thank you for your service. Now get the hell out of this place, I never want to see you walk through that door again.”

Lee took a step back. “Excuse me?”

Washington leaned forward. “You are _fired_.”

Lee took another step backwards, shock coloring his face. Alex suppressed the need to scream in his face (“ _LEE, WHAT’S GOOD_?”) and instead watched, silently, as he spun and made for the door. Bells jangled, and he was gone. 

“Shit,” Herc said, letting go of John, who punched the air, curls flying. 

“Take _that_ , Lee, you stupid motherfu--”

“Mr. Laurens? Mr. Hamilton?” Washington asked, his voice quiet and deadly. Alex forced himself to meet his gaze.

“Sir?”

“Meet me upstairs.”

He turned on his heel and entered the kitchen, and Alex listened as his footfalls got quieter and quieter as he ascended to his office. He looked at John.

“Shit,” Herc said again, and that was all that really needed saying.

•

This was the first time Alex had ever set foot in Washington’s private office, and he was absolutely sure it was going to be the last. He’d pictured scenarios in which John got fired, he’d pictured scenarios in which he got fired, but both of them?

At least Lee had gotten the boot, too.

John took a seat on a wooden chair in front of Washington’s immaculate desk. Binders and folders were set up on bookshelves lining the wall, along with a few books Alex recognized (a few volumes of Robert Frost poetry, _Moby Dick_ , the history of Virginia), and a few ones bound in leather and gold leaf that he didn’t. 

There was a spot on the wall dedicated to pictures, some in frames, some not. One, in a heavy gold frame, was a younger Washington in front of a church with a beautiful woman. She had long, dark hair, expressive eyes, and was in a white lace wedding dress. Alex took a covert glance at his boss’s left hand, where a wedding band glinted. He hadn’t even known Washington was married.

The other pictures were smaller and a little tougher to see. Alex could make out a few more of Washington with his wife; on a cruise, in front of Libertea on what he presumed was the shop’s opening day, in the yard of a white country home. There was another, of Washington in an apron behind the counter of Libertea, handing a drink to a customer while John (did he have _braces_ in that photo?) and a beanie-less Herc laughed at something in the background. There was a picture of Lafayette, a few very small French flags sticking out of his ponytail and a kitten in the front pocket of his shirt, attached to the wall with pieces of Scotch tape.

“Mr. Hamilton, please have a seat.” Washington gestured to the chair next to John’s, which he took immediately. “I just want you boys to know that I do not approve of anything that went on today, on your end or Lee’s.”

“Yes, sir,” John said quickly, and Alex echoed him. 

“I just want to make sure you know it was my fault,” Alex said before Washington could say anything else. John stomped on his foot, but he pressed on. “Lee was antagonizing--”

Washington leaned his elbows onto his desk. “Son...”

“I'm not your son,” Alex said, his voice suddenly rough and harsh, surprising even himself. The lightening bolt of surprise and joy that had surged through him when the word _son_ had reached his ears was still vibrating in his heart, but he needed to push it away. He wasn't anyone's son; he certainly wasn't Washington’s. “Lee called you out, we called his bluff.”

“You solve nothing, you did nothing but aggravate a superior--”

“John should have punched him in the mouth,” Alex muttered. “That would have shut him up.”

John’s heel dug into the top of his foot again, harder. 

“Son,” Washington started again. 

“I'm not your son.”

“Watch your tone, Mr. Hamilton. I am a grown-ass man, I do not need _either_ of you defending my honor--”

“So, what, you wanted us to just do nothing while Lee dragged your name through the mud? You gave me a _job_ , I wasn't going to let some idiot talk about you like that--”

“Have you heard what's been going on with this King business?” Washington raised his voice for the first time, and Alex actually leaned back in his chair, eyes wide. “My name has been through a _lot_. I can take it.”

“Well, I don't have your name, I don't have your job, I don't have anything, really, but if you gave me a shot I could help you make this place great,” Alex argued. “I am more than willing to stick with you and with Libertea through all the Lees and all the Kings and all the shit they throw--”

Washington ran a hand down his face and Alex stopped in his tracks. 

“Listen, son--”

He shot to his feet, blood boiling. “CALL ME SON _ONE MORE TIME_ \--”

“Alex!” John cut him off, standing up and grabbing him by the shoulders. Alex reeled back, shocked by the sudden appearance of John’s night sky of freckles in his line of vision. “Just… Shut up, okay?”

Washington stood as well. “Go home, Alexander.”

“What?”

“That's an order. You too, John. I'll let you know when you're allowed to come back to work.”

“Wait,” John said quickly, “we're not fired?”

“No,” Washington replied, and Alex later swore that the left corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “You're not fired. Now get out of my building.”

John and Alex ran down the stairs as fast as they could, stumbling and tripping over each other as they burst out of the kitchen. Libertea was empty, as it usually was around two in the afternoon, save for Burr in his usual corner with his usual drink. The three Schuylers were nowhere to be seen. Herc practically tackled John, and Lafayette stepped right in front of Alex. 

“ _Please_ tell me you didn't get your asses fired,” Herc pleaded. John rolled his eyes. 

“No, _mom_ , we didn't get fired.” 

Lafayette cheered. 

“But we aren't allowed to work until Washington says we can come back,” Alex added, and a scowl cut across Lafayette's face. 

“Can I take back my cheer?”

Burr threw his cup in the trash. “So, what you're telling me is, you basically got off with a slap to the wrist and nothing else?”

“A slap to the wrist?” Herc asked incredulously. “Me and Laf have to work by ourselves now, this is pretty much a punishment for us. Fuck you, Laurens, now I'm going to have to make _coffee_ , which I never wanted to have to do!”

John laughed. “Oh, cry into your tea, big baby man.”

“If you go home,” Lafayette said, “feed Georges. Tell him I’ll be home soon.”

John scoffed “Hell no, the _last_ thing I’m going to do is--”

“Well I stuck around for the drama,” Burr interrupted, standing up, “and now I'm leaving. I'm not coming back until Laurens does, because the last person I'd trust to make my Americano is _Hercules Mulligan_.”

“How sweet.” John blew a kiss towards Burr, as Herc scowled. 

“ _Americanos_. Fuck that noise.”

“Fuck your own noise, Mulligan,” John said, throwing Alex his coat and grabbing his own. “We… Are… _OUT_!”

And with that, John Laurens looped his freckled arm around Alex’s, pulling him out into the blustery New York afternoon. The wind hit Alex right in the face, and he coughed and composed himself while John shrugged his arm into the sleeve of his coat. 

“Oh, man, I haven’t had an off day in forever,” he said, zipping up the coat halfway. “What do you want to do? I skipped lunch because, well, I was punching a dude in the face.”

“Wait, you want to hang out?”

John gave Alex an incredulous look. “You _don’t_? The hell, Hamilton, I thought we were friends!”

“We are, John, I just…” Alex paused. “Well, I don’t have a group of friends. I mean, historically, I’ve never have had one before. Ever. In, like, my entire life.”

“Consider this your invitation to the in crowd, then,” John said without skipping a beat. “The dream team. Laurens and the Love Machines.” He gave Alex a look. “It’s just me, Laf, and Herc, you know? We’re not that cool. Don’t tell anyone.”

Alex laughed. “I think you’re pretty cool.”

John beamed. “I’m gonna need that in writing, lawyer. Now come on, be my fucking friend and let me buy you some Five Guys.”

Ignoring Alex’s halfhearted protests (he only had fifty-three cents in his coat pocket and Five Guys sounded _really_ good), John steered him down the street, hung a sharp left, and pulled him right into the restaurant. He didn’t ask Alex what he wanted, just said a few words (too quick for Alex to catch) to the guy manning the register, while texting the entire time. Alex _did_ catch the very top of his conversation--

(French flag emoji) **Lafbaguette** (French flag emoji)

GdM: jooooooooooooooooohn come back

GdM: bring alex too i’m bored

GdM: h is throwing sugar packets at me

GdM: at least you got rid of burr

JL: Me n bae are eating burgers / talking shit abt all u work jerks

JL: i hope burr comes back (kiss face emoji)

“Don’t call me bae,” Alex said, kicking the back of John’s leg. John grabbed the greasy bag from the guy at the counter, handing it back to Alex and filling a bunch of little cups with ketchup.

“Don’t read my texts,” he replied, leading the way to a booth in the back. He glanced back and winked. “Bae.”

They slid into their respective sides of the booth, and John dove headfirst into the bag. He emerged with a burger for Alex, one for himself, and two cups filled with fries. He dumped the rest of the fries on the tray between them, and shook a good amount of pepper on part of the pile. Alex took the salt and salted the other half.

“Thanks for this,” he said, unwrapping his burger. Bacon, cheese, mushrooms. “How did you know I like mushrooms?”

“Because you have good taste,” John said, showing him the burger in his hand, which also was filled with bacon, cheese, and mushrooms. “Herc gets hotdogs when we come here, Alex. _Hotdogs_.”

“Fuckin’ abomination,” Alex muttered, mouth full of burger.

John said something back, but Alex couldn’t even make out what he was saying around the bite he’d just taken. They ate in silence for a while, until John wadded up the foil that had wrapped his burger and chucked it at the trashcan. He missed. Alex threw his, and also missed.

“Okay, Alexander Hamilton, mystery of Libertea…” John began, ate a few fries, and continued. “Tell me about yourself. Besides the shit I already know; the lawyer-ness, the intern dreams, the schoolwork… Nothing about being a lawyer, basically. No offense, but lawyers are boring as hell.”

“Uh,” Alex said, realizing in that very moment that he’d never really had a real conversation with John. Most of their time at the coffeeshop was spent laughing at Burr or betting how many coffee stirrers they could stick in Lafayette’s hair without him noticing. “I’m from the West Indies. Nevis, actually, although no one’s ever heard of Nevis.”

“I’ve heard of Nevis,” John said, thumbing through his phone, “right now, because I just looked it up. Pretty place.”

“My entire family died when I was young,” Alex continued, “I went to live with my cousin, but he killed himself. Not because of me, just because… In general.” 

“Shit.”

Alex shrugged. “I wrote this essay and I guess a lot of people liked it, because like all of Nevis pitched in to send me to New York for school. I don’t know if they’re expecting me to come back, but I’m never going back there.”

“No way, son, you’re a New Yorker now,” John said, taking another handful of fries. “You’re part of John Laurens and the Love Machines, which I just decided is an epic saxophone quartet. Nevis can't have you back.”

Alex laughed and took some fries before John ate them all. “What about you? And the rest of the Love Machines; did you all meet at Libertea and just become best friends? Because if that's how it happened, that's the cutest thing I've ever heard.”

“I know we're the cutest things you ever heard, Alex, damn. You don't have to keep bringing it up.” He reached up to tie his hair back, and Alex realized he was still wearing a hairnet. He hadn't even noticed. John laughed and pulled it off his head. “Wow, that's embarrassing. Obsessed with work, much, barista?” 

He raked back his curls, securing them with an elastic while leaning down to try and grab fries with his mouth. 

“Okay,” he said, leaning back up, hair tied back in a half-bun, half-ponytail type thing. “Crash course. I grew up in South Carolina, my dad’s name is Henry, he's rich as shit, we don't agree. On _anything_. I left home with a backpack and twenty bucks when I was eighteen, haven't talked to him since.”

Alex raised his eyebrows. John took more fries. 

“Washington hired me because I met Herc on the subway and asked him where I could get a coffee. I only asked him because he literally smelled like the inside of a coffee bean, which, I found out later, is just what Libertea smells like.” 

Alex sniffed the sleeve of his coat. It was true. 

“It was hard for a while,” John said, “because I've honestly never had to work for anything in my entire life. Herc and Washington set me straight a lot back then, but, you find your niche, you know? A little bit of something that feels like family. Libertea’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Alex thought about John’s cup drawings, and his magic touch with the espresso machine, and the way he didn't hesitate to push Alex aside to go up against Lee. How hard he worked for the things he had, the things he loved. 

“I can't picture you as a rich kid,” he said instead of the million other things he wanted to. John grinned. 

“Bro, my bank account was in the red three times last month,” he said. “You want to talk money? My story time isn't over yet. Because Lafayette--” 

“Oh, give me the _dirt_.” Alex bit down on two fries, cold and dipped in colder ketchup. 

“--is fuckin’ _loaded_. I'm talking inheritance, no living relatives, _French nobility_ \--”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” John swirled a fry in some ketchup. “He came over here because he loves America, for some damn reason, and met Washington when he was out with Martha looking at properties for Libertea.”

“Martha…”

“His wife. Really sweet, scarier than him.”

“Ah.”

“Anyway, Laf is basically like _you're my new dad_ to Washington, tells him he'd work for free--” John raised an eyebrow “for _free_. No fucking joke. And Washington couldn't say no --because have you ever seen Laf’s sad face? You wouldn't say no either-- and that’s him. Herc came to New York because he's got a passion for fashion. He’s got this Etsy shop, or whatever, sells beanies in his free time. I helped Laf a lot in the beginning, with his English, and Herc helped me learn how to not be a jackass. He taught me how to make ramen.”

“You didn’t know how to--”

“I didn’t know how to do a lot of things,” John said, “and Lafayette was even worse than me. Still is. I don’t think he’s ever learned how to do laundry.” He scraped the rest of their trash onto the red tray, and both he and Alex stood and made for the exit. 

“What now?” John asked once they were, once again, on the side of a blustery New York street. Alex looked at his phone.

“I really should try and get some studying in today,” he said. “Pretty sure there’s a quiz on Friday, pretty sure I’m not prepared at all.”

“Yo, you know what you should do?” John asked. “Come hang out in our apartment and study. I can, I don’t know, hold up flashcards or some shit. I got a mean hand for highlighting. And you can feed Laf’s idiot cat, because God knows I’m not going to.”

Alex laughed. “Fair enough, good deal. I’ll have to swing by student housing to grab my laptop, but that sounds great.”

They walked down the road, Alex taking the lead, down alleys and across bustling streets. John gave exactly fifteen people the middle finger as they walked; Alex gave nine and John cheered every time he did it. By the time they’d gotten to Alex’s dorm it had become sort of a game.

“I can’t believe that guy took both hands off the wheel to double-flip you off,” John said as Alex held open the door to his room. “What a screwball. He was in the right, though...”

John trailed off, but then found his voice again.

“Uh, Alex, I think you got robbed.”

“No, this is just how my roommate is.” Alex kicked a towel --still damp, _eugh_ \-- across the room. “Second year law, doesn’t know what a can of Febreeze is. Leaves his shit all over the place but…” He plunged his hand into a pile of t-shirts and corn chip bags and pulled out his laptop. “I deal.”

He gathered the rest of his things --flashcards, pencil bag, stack of books, green backpack to shove everything in-- and met John by the door, where he was still standing with a look of supreme disgust on his freckled face.

“Hold up, Laurens, your snob’s showing through.”

“Dude, this isn’t being a fucking snob, your roommate’s a _pig_! Why do you put up with this?”

“I can’t change rooms, John, I tried. And the financial administrator hates me ‘cause I punched him when I first showed up here.”

“You did _what_ \--”

“And it’s cheap to live here,” Alex continued. “Two hundred a month. With my salary from Libertea it’s almost doable; I’m making dents in my student loans, too. They’re tiny, miniscule dents, but still--”

John took him by the shoulders and shook him a little. “Holy shit, Alex, this isn’t okay. You need to live with me. Us. The crew. John Laurens and the Love Machines. Just get the fuck out of this dump. Say yes.”

“You have a room?”

“Of course we have a room. It’s small and it’s filled with Herc’s weights and Laf’s, I don’t know, whatever bullshit Laf needs an extra room to hold, but we can clean it out and rent it to you. Two hundred a month. No, wait, _one fifty_ a month. Utilities, wifi, and piggyback rides from Herc included.”

Alex shook his head. “There’s no way it’s that cheap. I’m not screwing you guys over, John.”

“Remember what I said about Laf being loaded? He pays for a lot of the rent. He also has the biggest room, so, I mean.” John elbowed Alex. “It’s fine. You’ll still, you know, pay rent. Contribute. We’ll make you cook every once in a while.”

“I can do pancakes, and I can do eggs.”

“Breakfast dinner's the best kind of dinner, that's what I always say.”

“At least ask the others, first,” Alex said. “The last thing I want is to be a surprise roommate, hated by the other roommates who also happen to be my coworkers.”

“Done already,” John said, and held up his phone. “I sent a picture of the room and also one of you digging through that pile of clothes and chip bags, because it made me sad.”

“It's not even my trash,” Alex said, but looked at the phone anyway.

(French flag emoji) **Lafbaguette** (French flag emoji)

JL: (Sent 2 attachments)

JL: alex’s place. let’s clean out our spare room yeah?

JL: $150 per month rent

GdM: SAINTE MERDE

GdM: i’ve always wanted a fourth roommate, john

GdM: i can find a different place to store georges’ cat tower

John swiped to a different screen.

**Who Put The Glad In Gladiator???**

JL: (Sent 2 attachments)

HM: well that's disturbing

HM: tell alex i said welcome to the apt

“So that's it?” Alex asked. John slung an arm around his shoulder.

“Welcome to the fam, fam. Now, tell me what shit is yours so we never have to come back here ever again.” 

Between the two of them, it only took about a half an hour to locate Alex's things, packing some in his backpack and most of it into two black Hefty bags. John kept up a running commentary, asking Alex about all of his graphic t-shirts (he highly approved of his old-timey comic book ones, and Alex learned that he was a big fan of both Spider-Man and Captain America), and throwing trash onto his roommate’s bed. In what felt like no time at all, Alex was hauling the last of his bags out the door, and giving his college dorm one last look.

“You gonna miss it?” John asked. 

“Hell no,” Alex replied. “I'm a Love Machine now. What more could I want?”

John's grin was brighter than the naked fluorescent lightbulbs above their heads. “I need to tell the other two about our new band name. I bet you a night in your old shithole room they're going to _love it_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: apartment shenanigans and Georges the cat!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	5. To The Four Of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gives Alex a tour of the apartment, Herc has a love-hate relationship with Chinese food, and John just has a hate-hate relationship with Georges the cat.

The two of them grabbed one bag each; Alex also had his backpack and John had his pillow and folded comforter under his arm. They could've hailed a cab but they didn't, even after cleaning and packing Alex was full of energy, he could have walked for miles. John was the same way, bumping into Alex on purpose every couple of blocks, buffered by all of the blankets he was holding. 

They passed Libertea, and Alex ignored the sickeningly bright sign staked between the cobblestones outside, informing everyone who read it that the building was now represented by _All The King’s Men Realtors_. The logo had a gold and red crown hanging off of the ‘K’. It made Alex's stomach turn to think about King, how he was hanging over them, how everything could go away in an instant. 

He caught a glimpse of Herc by the window with his back to them, sitting at the long table and measuring tea. Washington was behind the counter with Lafayette, wearing a Libertea apron and a baseball hat. Alex felt a pang in his chest. 

“Who knew I'd ever be sad to have a day off,” John said from a little way behind him; he'd started walking slower to look at the shop. “Is Washington wearing a _hat_? Damn, I miss all the good stuff.”

And then he jogged a little to catch up with Alex, bumping into him again. “Well, not _all_ the good stuff.”

They walked up the street a few blocks until John stopped outside another red brick building; this one had a navy overhang with the name of the apartment complex ( _‘VF Apartments’_ ) written in white. Taking the elevator to the fourth floor, the two of them argued the merits of Clint Barton’s Hawkeye versus Kate Bishop’s Hawkeye, theorized about what Burr would be like after a day with no Americano, and John sang a little bit of Beyoncé; “ _Partition_ ”, and yelled at Alex when he didn’t know all of the words.

John was, Alex realized with the shock of something that shouldn’t have been a surprise at all, his friend. 

He wasn’t putting up with him because they were roommates, he wasn’t trying to copy off his papers in class, he wasn’t trying to bum a debate partner or pull a quote for a term paper or act buddy-buddy because Alex knew an answer to a pop quiz question in Lowell’s notoriously hard, jungle of a classroom. He was a friend; it was simple and it was new and it was… 

“Shit, Alex, take your dumbass blankets and watch me dance to Beyoncé right now--”

It was _good_. Alex couldn’t remember the last time he was able to describe something in his --rather tumultuous up to this point-- life as _good_. 

That, in it of itself, was worth anything he was able to give.

John led him to their apartment, 4C, singing under his breath the entire time. He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket and fit the biggest one into the lock, turning until it clicked.

“ _I do this all for you, baby, just take aiiiiimmm…_ ”

John moved through the foyer quickly, pointing out various features and rooms in the apartment. There were a lot of windows letting in sunlight and the floor was polished wood. It was a little bit of a mess, but more of a _three guys live here_ mess than his old dorm, which was more of a _we dumped fifteen trash cans on the floor_ type of situation. 

“If you see a beanie, it’s Herc’s,” John said, “and any cat toys are for Georges. Why do we have so many fuckin’ cat toys?” He kicked a pink and orange mouse out of Alex’s path.

The main entrance led into a living room area; they had an L-shaped red leather couch, a few reclining chairs, and a coffee table with a lot of half-empty coffee mugs taking up residence. The living room bled into the dining area (their table had four chairs, which secretly made Alex feel all warm and fuzzy), and a kitchen with a small island, a range, and a silver double-door refrigerator. A pack of alphabet magnets spelled out _JOHN LAURZ WAS HERE_ and there was a grocery list stuck under the _Z_.

“Gummy bears,” Alex read, “and tequila.”

“For the gummy bears,” John said, pulling him along, “not for us.”

He opened the door farthest into the apartment, and flipped on the light. Alex only caught a glimpse of two mattresses stacked on top of each other, a torso mannequin with two pieces of fabric draped over it, and a big _Star Wars_ poster (the trio and the Millennium Falcon) hung across the room from the bed before John shut the door. 

“Herc’s room,” he explained, and opened the door across from it. “My room.”

John’s room was smaller than Herc’s; he also didn’t own a bed frame, and he also had a _Star Wars_ poster (Darth Vader), but that’s where their similarities ended. He had an old-timey record player set up in the corner, a tall bookshelf that was mainly made up of movies and, of course, records, and a bulletin board covered in thumbtacks and napkin doodles and painstakingly sketched pictures of, well, everything. Faces, animals, eyes, trees. There was one that was obviously Lafayette, looking tired and happy, a lot of a cat that Alex guessed was Georges, and one big one of the outside of Libertea. 

Alex also saw one on the top right corner that looked a lot like him, but he wasn’t about to ask John about it. 

John shut the door on his room and moved further down the hallway until they were back in the kitchen. He crossed the apartment again, to another hallway identical to the one they’d just gone down. The bathroom was down this one; their shower curtain had whales on it and Lafayette had a monogrammed towel.

“Laf’s room,” John said, opening the next door, “the home theater.” 

Alex was pretty sure that John was referring to the obscenely large TV sitting on top of Lafayette’s short bookshelf, two taller bookshelves framing it. Most of the books were in French, and Alex made a mental note to ask Lafayette to let him browse his library. His bed was also obscenely large, covered in pillows, and he _did_ own a bed frame. And there was Georges, curled up on top of a blanket.

“Hey, kitty,” Alex said, approaching the cat, vaguely aware of John snickering at him in the background. Georges was _tiny_ , maybe the size of Alex’s hand, and his brown and black mottled fur was fluffy and begging to be petted. “My name’s Alex, I’m your new roomma-- _FUCK_!” 

He pulled his hand away but the scratches were already bleeding. Georges was still curled up, eyes closed. Did he even _move_?

“Is Laf’s cat a demon?” Alex asked, wrapping his jacket sleeve around his bleeding hand. 

John was full-on laughing now. “Hi Georges, bye Georges, Alex is gonna feed you later because _I hate your guts_!”

“What if I don’t want to feed him,” Alex asked, still clutching his throbbing hand and looking around the room. There were a _lot_ of French flags; a big one hanging at the head of the bed, little ones in a jar on top of the first bookshelf, and Alex even saw a pair of what he was pretty sure were French flag parachute pants in a pile by the door. There were also two intricate flags, American and French, painted on the ceiling mural-style, the flagpoles intersecting right where the ceiling fan and light fixture was. 

“Did you paint that?” Alex asked, pointing up at the mural. John scoffed. 

“No.”

“That's your signature, John, or did another artistically talented John Laurens come and paint on the ceiling of Lafayette’s bedroom for some reason?”

“Yep, that must be it,” he said as they left the room and he closed the door behind them. 

“Oh, are you kidding me?” Alex asked. “Don’t tell me that you, the patron saint of telling people to go fuck themselves, are insecure about your art?” John crossed his arms.

“And what if I am, Hammy?”

“I’d tell you that you’re being ridiculous, because your art’s good, John, it really is.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

John pushed open the third and final door in the hallway and Alex was greeted with his new home. It was small, but he didn’t care about that. Most of the space was dominated by a multi-leveled cat scratching post and a set of intimidating weights, but he didn’t care about that, either. There was a sofa-bed in the corner that he _did_ care about, because it looked welcoming and comfortable. 

“This is great,” he said as he and John piled his stuff in the only open corner. “I don't feel very at home, though, there's no half-empty ice cream containers melting everywhere, and I don't see Horace--”

“Who the hell is Horace?”

“This rat that lived in our dorm.”

“Your roommate had a _rat_? How was he even trusted with a living thing?”

“Nah, he wasn't my roommate’s, he just sort of… Lived in our room. I think he liked the old pizza crusts on the floor.”

Alex turned just in time to see John’s face twisted in disgust before he laughed out loud. 

“Come on, Laurens, I was kidding. There wasn’t a rat in our room, stop looking at me like you just ate an entire lemon or those cookies Herc “baked” that one time.” Alex pushed John’s shoulder. “I lived in a dump, not a rat-infested dump.”

John raised his eyebrows and shoved him back, harder. “It should make you sad that I actually believed you, jackass. Now let’s clean this room up before the other two get home.”

Between the two of them it was easy work. They left the weights for Herc to move later (Alex did move the 25 pound plates, but the rest wasn’t about to be budged, not by him at least), and both of them pushed the cat tower to the very end of the hallway, out of the way of everything else. 

“We need to get you a bookshelf,” John commented as Alex threw his comforter and pillow onto the sofa bed. He glanced over; John was stacking his books against the far wall, organizing them by size and color rather than by author and subject, which was what Alex would have done. John gave a pointed glance to the other two garbage bags by the door. “And a dresser.”

“You want to go furniture shopping with me, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” John replied emphatically, “that is _exactly_ my game plan here. Going furniture shopping with Alex Hamilton. Sounds like my idea of a super fun six and a half hours.”

“Six and a half hours?”

“We all know it wouldn’t take any shorter than that,” John said, and, in the distance, Alex heard the front door slam open and the subsequent dissonance of voices entering the apartment. He heard Lafayette, yelling something indiscernible, and then he heard Herc.

“ _JOHN!_ ” 

John straightened up from where he was, hunched over a stack of Alex’s books. “WHAT.”

“WHERE’S OUR NEW ROOMIE?”

“IN YOUR FUCKIN’ HOME GYM, MULLIGAN!”

Not even two seconds later, Herc poked his head through the door. Alex watched as he took in the scene, John crouched next to piles of books, Alex draped across the back of the sofa bed, the pile of weights still in the corner.

He pointed at the weights. “I’ll move those.”

“Damn right you will.” John.

“Thanks, man.” Alex.

“ _JOHN_ \--” Lafayette.

“He’s pissed ‘cause you didn’t feed the cat,” Herc explained, and John rolled his eyes. “And we got Chinese for dinner.”

“What!” At that, John leapt to his feet, crossed the room in two long strides, and wrapped both arms around Herc’s neck, even though he had to be on his tiptoes to reach. “I love you, Hercules Mulligan, I really do. Have I ever told you that? Because I--”

He paused and leaned back.

“You got Tso’s and veggie lo mein, right?”

“And crispy noodles.”

“You’re a prince among men, Mulligan.” John kissed Herc on the tip of his nose, keeping his arms wrapped in the hug until Herc pushed him off. Alex rolled off the sofa and joined them in the doorway, leaning into John as he slung an arm around his shoulder.

“Thanks,” he said to Herc, “for the room, you know, and everything else. I’m glad you guys think I’ll make a good roommate.”

Herc shoved Alex’s shoulder, pushing him even closer to John. “Shut up, Ham, of course we wanted you to move in. It makes sense, the four of us living together and all working down at the shop. It’ll drive Washington nuts, though, he already gets mad at the three of us for being so close. Makes getting anything done a nightmare, to be honest. Especially when this one--” he violently ruffled John’s hair “--drives away all our customers.”

“Do not,” John argued, pulling away. Herc gave him a look.

“You called Mr. Howe a _gigantic shitstain_ the other day. Like, loudly. At six forty-five in the morning.”

“To be fair, Howe is, and always will be, a gigantic shitstain.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Herc picked John up, slung him over his shoulder like he was a medieval farmer and John was a sack of potatoes, beckoned to Alex, and walked off down the hall towards the kitchen. From behind Herc’s back, literally, John gave him two very resigned middle fingers.

Alex followed Herc down the hall into the kitchen, sliding into a chair at the kitchen table as he dumped John onto the sofa. 

Lafayette slid two bags of what Alex guessed was the Chinese food onto the table, along with a pile of plates and forks. Alex stood and helped him unload the bags; making sure to push the General Tso’s towards John as he and Herc joined them at the table. Lafayette threw a fortune cookie and it hit Alex square in the forehead.

“Welcome to our apartment, _mon ami_ ,” he said, ducking as Alex threw it back at him. “Did John actually help you move, or did he just watch?”

John sputtered. “Hey!”

“He was very helpful,” Alex replied, looking pointedly at John, “and he even gave me a tour. I gotta say, Herc, your _Star Wars_ poster is a lot cooler than his. Trio beats Vader any day.”

“Hey,” John said again, and Herc laughed, pulling the bag of food to his end of the table and grabbing a handful of crispy noodles. Alex started filling up his plate, too; a pile of white rice, a pile of lo mein, a container of wanton soup that Lafayette handed him. Both Herc and John used chopsticks, while he and Lafayette used forks. It was silent for a while, the only sounds coming from utensils scraping the inside of takeout boxes and John’s occasional ‘ _holy shit_ ’ as he took bites of General Tso’s. 

And then John yelled and the top of his leg slammed into the underside of the table, making the whole thing shake. Herc grabbed at his container of soup before it spilled.

“Fuck,” John hissed, reaching for something under the table and coming up with a fistful of cat. Georges writhed in his grip, hissing. Alex honestly didn’t know what was wrong with his brain, because, faced with Lafayette’s murder cat, his first instinct was still to try and pet him. He _really_ wanted to pet him. John, a look of ultimate disgust on his face, reached across the table and deposited Georges into Lafayette’s lap.

The change in the cat was instantaneous; he started purring loud enough to be heard over Herc munching on cheese wantons, and headbutted Lafayette’s hand until he started scratching him behind the ears. John rolled his eyes.

“I still don’t understand how you taught that fucking trashbag cat how to play favorites.”

“He doesn’t play favorites,” Lafayette said as Georges yawned, showing a set of tiny white fangs. “He doesn’t like you because you call him names, _tête de nœud_.”

“Well what about that, then?”

“He doesn’t understand French, John, he’s a cat.”

“Well then, _va te faire foutre_ , cat whisperer!”

Lafayette gasped and covered both of Georges’ ears with one hand. Herc made an exaggerated half-turn towards Alex.

“So, you’re glad you moved in?” he asked as John flicked a grain of rice at Lafayette (it stuck in his hair), and Lafayette retaliated by trying to put Georges, claws-first, onto John’s head. Alex took a bite of lo mein and chewed it, watching John try to avoid getting anywhere near the whirlwind of claws and fur that was Lafayette’s cat, before answering.

“I think so.”

Herc laughed. “Fair enough.”

They went back to decimating the pile of Chinese food as Lafayette took Georges into the kitchen and filled up a bowl that was on the floor. In the middle of a particularly big piece of chicken, John made a choking noise and slapped Herc’s bicep. Herc didn’t even look over as he patted John’s back, only stopping when he hit his hand away.

“No, man, I’m not dying, tell me about the rest of the day at the shop!” he said hurriedly. “Me and Alex walked by around two, it didn’t look very busy. There was that fucking sign picketed outside”

Herc rolled his eyes. “King’s lackeys came by a little while after you left. Washington had to go into the kitchen before he completely lost it.”

“And he was wearing…” John pried.

Herc nodded, conceding. “A baseball hat.”

John whooped. “I can’t believe I missed all this shit!”

“King himself still hasn’t shown his face,” Lafayette said, taking his seat at the table again. Alex could faintly hear Georges in the kitchen, still purring like a motorboat. “But the commander has a plan.” John’s chin dropped into his hands as he slammed both elbows onto the table.

“Spill.”

“It’s not really a plan,” Herc warned, “it’s more like… An idea.”

John nodded. “Sure, sure. _Spill_.”

“He wants to buy Libertea.”

“Really?” Alex asked. “Washington said that?”

Lafayette nodded. “He said it’s the only way to save the business from tanking under King. His real estate taxes are out of control, he’s found a way to make money off of everything we bring in the door. His contract is binding and inescapable.”

“You should hear his tea tax,” Herc muttered. “Fucking insane.”

“How can he do this?” Alex asked. “It’s unethical, it’s not right!”

“He’s untouchable in the real estate game,” John said. “I Googled him last night. He’s a fuckin’ mogul, and he almost has his hands on Libertea. Does Washington really think he can buy the shop off him?”

“The shop’s not his yet,” Lafayette said. “He didn’t sign King’s contract. We still have a chance to draw up a proposal of our own, take it to the bank, and see if they’ll loan us enough to buy us out of our old lease with Congressional Realtors.”

“And Washington thinks he can make that work?” Alex asked.

Herc shrugged. “Who the hell knows. We’re just a couple baristas who are going to be out of jobs unless we help Washington dodge this King bastard any way he can.”

“Well, what can we do?” John asked.

“There’s got to be dirt on King somewhere that we can use in our proposal,” Herc said. “I’m good at that, all that spy shit. If we can get anything, like how he wants us to fail, his vendetta against Washington, that might help our case.”

“That we should own the building instead of King,” John said. Herc nodded.

“He could use a lawyer, right?” Alex asked slowly. Herc pointed at him.

“ _Fuck_ yes! King better lawyer up, ‘cause we got Alex Hamilton, scourge of New York fuckin’ City on our side!.”

Alex laughed. “I don’t know if King and his gang of baddies are going to be scared by a law student who can’t even get an internship.”

“They should be,” John said, the seriousness of his voice undercutting Herc still snickering in the background. Alex met his gaze, his dark eyes level and ernest. “If there’s anyone who can help Washington, I think it’s Alex.”

Herc coughed loudly, picking up his glass. At the start of the meal Lafayette had poured them all drinks in beautiful glasses that Alex thought were too good to be used on a Chinese food dinner. Herc’s was amber colored, John’s bright orange, Alex had what he was pretty sure was Mountain Dew, and Lafayette’s was red. Herc shoved the hand holding his glass into the center of the table.

“Raise a glass,” he said loudly.

“Raise a glass,” Lafayette and John repeated. They all looked at Alex.

“Oh,” he said, lifting his cup to join the others. “ _Raise a glass_.”

“To Washington,” Herc said, “to freedom. To the things no one can take away, no matter what they tell you.”

“To the four of us,” John said, clinking glasses with Alex, and the sound of glass against glass filled the apartment.

•

“I hate Chinese food,” Herc moaned, laying on the couch with one arm draped across his eyes. Alex was on the floor, lying in the opposite direction, so his head was uncomfortably close to Herc’s feet. John was in the kitchen, on dish duty, and Lafayette was in one of the reclining chairs, reading something on his phone, Georges perched precariously on top of his head, right in front of the arch of his ponytail.

“You’re just going to eat the leftovers in a half hour anyway,” John yelled from the kitchen.

Herc paused. “Shut up Laurens, you’re right and I can’t even argue with you.”

Lafayette’s phone buzzed, and he laughed. “Alex, John? Break’s over. Washington says that you can come back to work in the morning.” John practically leapt over the island in the kitchen to get to Lafayette, grabbing his phone and sliding onto the floor next to Alex. He read out loud, but Alex looked over his shoulder to see for himself.

**Commander**

GW: & pleas ;et mr laurz & mr ham kno

GW: they r welcom bckk 2 work in the AM

GdM: I will let them know!! Thank you, sir

GW: very proud of u 4

GW: the shop woldnt b the same w/o u

“Somebody let me know why Washington texts like what the media thinks fourteen year olds text like,” John commented, and Alex grabbed the phone out of his hand. “Like, please don’t introduce him to emojis. The last thing I need is my boss sending me the bomb emoji with no context, or the middle finger, or the _fucking eggplant_. I don’t need that in my life.”

Alex couldn’t stop staring at three words, lit up like Christmas Eve on Lafayette’s phone. _Proud of you_. He could live in those words forever, snuggle up in them like they were his new sofa bed, or like he was Georges and the words were Lafayette’s ponytail. They felt like this, the new apartment, his three friends, his job. They felt like home.

John grabbed the phone and threw it over his shoulder. Lafayette caught it, somehow snatching it out of midair without leaving his seat or disrupting Georges on top of his head, whom Alex was pretty sure was fast asleep. 

“So, back to work in the morning,” John said, laying back down next to Alex. “I gotta say, days off are not what they’re cracked up to be. I miss slinging espresso. I miss cup doodles. And, guys, I honest-to-God miss Burr’s face in the morning. The angry one, you know, the six in the morning look he gives, like I’m the one causing global warming or some shit.”

Alex looked over in time to see Herc’s face all scrunched up in, surprisingly, a very accurate portrayal of what Aaron Burr’s face usually looked like in the morning. John pointed.

“That’s the one. That’s the _John Laurens is personally responsible for global warming_ look.” He rolled over onto his stomach. “Okay, so we all have to work tomorrow, so there goes my plans for a big rager of a house party--”

“What?” Lafayette asked, but John pressed on.

“--so, freaks and weirdos, what are we doing tonight?”

“Sleeping off this Chinese food,” Herc said, but then sat up. “Actually, I think I could go for round two.”

“We could watch a movie,” Lafayette suggested. “I just got--”

“No,” Herc said, falling back down, “I refuse to watch another damn French movie when you don’t even use subtitles like a--”

“Your _entire country_ doesn’t have subtitles,” Lafayette argued.

“I feel kind of like getting ruined emotionally,” Herc said over Lafayette. “We should watch--”

“ _The Lion King_ ,” John whispered to Alex.

“ _The Lion King_ ,” Herc said, like it was the end of any discussion. “I’m grabbing more food. Anyone want anything?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to watch another Disney movie?” John asked as Herc made his way into the kitchen. “Something, I don’t know, a little more… Your speed? Something… Possibly… Named after you?”

“John…” Herc said from the other room.

“Something… I don’t know… Wildly inaccurate about Greek mythology…”

Herc poked his head around the corner. “Don’t you fucking say it, Laurens.”

“Something… Like… _Hercules_?”

An egg roll flew through the air and hit John square in the face, but he bounced back quickly.

“Who put the _glad_ in _gladiator_ ,” he sang (loudly and off-key) through bites of egg roll. “Her-cu-les! Who’s daring deeds are great theater? Her-cu-les! Is he bold?” John pointed his half-eaten egg roll at Alex.

“Uh…”

“No one greater!” John sang in a higher-pitched (still wildly off-key) voice. “Is he sweet?” The egg roll was pointed at Lafayette.

“Our favorite flavor!” 

Another egg roll was launched out of the kitchen, barely missing Georges and smacking against the wall with the _crunch_ of wasted delicious potential. Herc came out of the kitchen, a bowl filled with Chinese food in one hand and a bottle of Coke in the other. 

“Are you fuckwads done?”

It was silent, until John--

“ _Bless my soul, Herc was on a roll_ \--” 

Herc kicked John in the leg until he rolled over, stood up, and darted down the hall, cackling the entire time. Herc followed, slower, because of his food. Lafayette moved Georges to his shoulder and helped Alex off of the floor.

“I guess we’re not watching it out here,” Lafayette commented and the two of them followed Herc and John into Lafayette’s room. The other two were already in the middle of the bed and The Lion King was already on the TV; Herc was on his stomach with a mouth full of fried rice, John was next to him, sitting up against the headboard wrapped in a blanket. Lafayette took the spot beside Herc, pushing his feet over to make more room, and Alex sat next to John.

Without a word, John draped the other half of his blanket over Alex’s shoulders, shifting so that he was more comfortable. It was warm, but not unpleasantly so, and Alex felt his eyelids getting heavy.

As the movie continued and Alex watched Mufasa and Simba talk about the Outlands for the millionth time, he noticed that John’s head was dipping closer and closer to his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, and when John finally fell asleep, his head resting in the dip of Alex’s neck, the only thing he did was wiggle closer to him. He must have fallen asleep at some point, too, because the last thing he remembered was resting his cheek on John’s curly hair and Timon and Pumbaa singing in the background.

“ _It means no worries, for the rest of your days_ …”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: morning in the apartment. The Schuyler sisters are back at Libertea. And Aaron Burr finally gets his Americano.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	6. Our Odds Are Beyond Scary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day of work at Libertea; Laf has an on-again-off-again girlfriend, no one keeps anything from Angelica, and Alex just wants Washington to trust him with more responsibility.

The sunbeams streaming through Lafayette’s windows in the morning slowly nudged Alex awake. The clock hanging off the wall said that it was five minutes past six; Libertea would be opening in forty minutes and he needed to be there in thirty. He rolled over and met an empty bed.

He was alone, curled up in a big pile of still-warm blankets, his head resting on a decorative French flag pillow. Well, he wasn’t completely alone. If he were to reach out to the left he’d be able to touch Georges, fast asleep on yet another pillow, whiskers twitching.

Despite how much he wanted to, he resisted the temptation to try and pet Georges again and forced himself out of bed. 

He took one quick look in the mirror before going out to face the day; tired eyes with the ever-present half moon smudges underneath, dark hair that had been tied back in a short ponytail but was now hanging in pieces around his face, baggy shirt he’d borrowed from Herc (Rihanna, _Good Girl Gone Bad_ tour 2008). He re-did his ponytail quickly and headed down the hall. 

“There he is!” John brandished a batter-crusted spatula in the general direction of his face. Both he and Herc were in the kitchen, Herc had an apron on (it was army green and had white block letters spelling out _TROPHY HUSBAND_ over the chest), and John had flour smeared across his forehead.

“We’re making pancakes,” Herc said, rather redundantly in Alex’s opinion, because there was a (steadily shrinking, as John kept sneaking bites) stack of pancakes on the island in front of him. “I say we, but I mean me.”

“Hey,” John argued, “I’m helping.”

“Helping eat them, sure,” Herc said, hip-checking John away from the stove as he turned back to flip another few pancakes. Alex slid onto a stool in front of the island as John ripped another piece off of the top pancake while Herc’s back was turned.

“Where’s Laf?” Alex asked as Herc swiveled again and John shoved the entire pancake into his mouth to avoid getting caught. 

“Libertea,” Herc replied, giving John a _you’re-not-fooling-anyone_ look. “He always goes really early to get a head start on baking. I help sometimes, but four in the morning straight sucks.”

He stacked all three of the finished pancakes onto his spatula and slid them onto the serving plate. It was already piled high, but Alex was ready to make at least a significant dent in them. John dug in the refrigerator and emerged with a bottle of pure maple syrup, a bottle of the fake stuff, a jug of orange juice, and a smaller container of cranberry. He slid the cranberry to Herc, who was putting the kettle onto the stove.

Alex contributed the best that he could, grabbing three glasses from the cabinet and a stack of plates. He grabbed a handful of hopefully clean silverware from the dishwasher, and the three of them, arms piled high with breakfast needs, relocated to the living room. Herc sat on the same reclining chair that Lafayette had the night before, and John and Alex crowded around the coffee table, filling their plates and, subsequently, their mouths with pancakes.

Herc knew what he was doing. The pancakes were somehow dense and fluffy at the same time, and paired with a tiny drizzle of the maple syrup (for some reason John used the fake stuff, drenching his pancakes and most of his plate with it), they were heaven. 

“Why don’t you just drink it?” Herc asked around a mouthful of pancake, motioning to John, who was pouring more syrup onto his plate of syrup. 

“Why don’t you just shut up?”

The rest of the morning passed by quickly; Alex remembered changing into one of his plain green t-shirts and a pair of semi-clean jeans, brushing his teeth after Herc had yelled that no one was leaving the apartment with bad dental hygiene on his watch, and riding the elevator with John as Herc took the stairs.

A few people were already hanging around Libertea when the three of them walked up to the front door, people that Alex didn’t know or didn’t recognize. John made shooing motions with both hands.

“We still have ten minutes ‘til open,” he said as Herc inserted and turned his key. “Coffee vultures.”

They entered and Herc closed and locked the door behind them, and they fell into their normal opening routine. Alex ducked back into the kitchen and grabbed trays of pastries from Lafayette, who had his headphones covering his ears and his iPod in the breast pocket of his apron. Even from across the kitchen, Alex could hear the thumping bass. 

Balancing three trays on both arms, Alex hip-checked his way through the swinging kitchen door, slid the trays onto the counter, and began setting up the pastry display. John passed him his usual drink and Alex handed him a cookie, a chocolate coconut macadamia. They clinked the two together, drink and cookie, and took a sip and a bite, respectively, before turning back to their work.

There was a doodle on Alex’s cup, a sailboat on top of a high wave, that probably took John more time to draw than it did for him to make the drink. 

Herc unlocked the door right as Alex was finishing the cake pop display (there was a new red velvet flavor that he set aside to taste-test, for the good of Libertea, nothing more), and the first one inside was none other than Aaron Burr.

“Here I thought I was going to have a good morning,” John commented loudly from his place by the espresso machine, Burr’s cup in hand, already doodled on. Burr handed his card to Alex with nothing but a signature early morning grimace, and retreated to his corner stool. Alex and John worked their way through the line of customers, John making drinks quicker than Alex could sell them, and soon Libertea was exactly how he liked it, full to the brim with people, but none of them waiting in line.

John grabbed Burr’s cup mid-sip, and slid over to the espresso station to refill it. 

“On the house,” he said, handing the steaming cup back, waving away Burr’s card. “You look like you could use it.”

It was true. Burr looked different, a little run down, _haggard_ even, which was a word that Alex thought would never apply to Burr and his designer suits and black leather laptop bag. His maroon tie was rumpled and badly done, and he even had a brushstroke of five o’clock shadow along his jawline. Alex pulled up the one stool on his side of the counter and leaned his chin on one fist.

“Aaron Burr, sir--”

“No way, Alexander, do not ask me--”

Alex ignored him and pressed on. “What’s wrong? Heartbroken?”

“Why the fuck would you think that?”

“Profanity, Burr, watch your fucking mouth,” John called out the kitchen window. Alex heard Lafayette snicker, and from across the shop Herc let out one loud laugh. Burr rolled his eyes and took another long sip of his drink. 

“I’m not heartbroken, Alexander, and you should learn to mind your own business.” 

“You’re just learning to love the stubbly look, then?”

Burr ran one hand down the side of his chin. “Damn it.”

“That’s what I thought, man. Unshaven’s more of my thing, anyway, copyright pending--”

“Give that back!” Lafayette and John burst through the kitchen door almost on top of each other, John skidding around the pastry display and diving behind Burr. Lafayette lunged across the counter, forcing Burr to move his drink for its own safety. 

“Give it back, John,” Lafayette repeated, and for the first time Alex saw that John had his phone --Lafayette was an iPhone person, John and Herc were firmly in the Android camp, and Alex had his flip phone from the eighteenth century-- and John tossed the phone from side to side. “I’m going to kill you and sprinkle your ashes from here all the way back to South Carolina--” 

“You love me,” John replied, pressing the phone’s home button and swiping left. “You have _fingerprint encryption_ on this, what the hell?”

“Androids suck,” Burr coughed. John firmly ignored it. 

“But I have unalienable knowledge, my friend,” he continued, typing something in, and frowning. “Okay. It's not your birthday. Let's try…” 

He typed another four numbers. “It's not Washington’s birthday.”

“Try mine,” Herc called from across the shop. Alex caught a brief glimpse of Lafayette rolling his eyes. John typed it in. 

“Nope.”

Herc blew a raspberry. “Screw you, du Motier.” 

“My birthday’s a no… _Ah_!” John frantically typed. “We’re in! John Laurens… Expert barista, excellent lover, master hacker!”

“What was it?” Burr asked, and then took a supremely nonchalant sip of his drink. “Not that I care or anything.”

“Adri’s birthday,” John replied offhandedly as his fingers moved across the screen, his eyebrows knit and tongue poking from between his teeth. “I hate these phones. How do you get anything done? Honest to God, fuck Steve Jobs.”

“Give me my phone back, _ami_.” Lafayette made one last halfhearted plea. “I was in the middle of a conversation.” 

“I know, asshole, I could see your heart-eyes from all the way across the kitchen. I'm just making sure you're not running away to get _married_ or anything…”

“Married?” Alex asked. He hadn't even known Lafayette was dating anyone. 

“I'm not getting married,” Lafayette argued. “Adrienne and I…” 

“They have this weird on-again off-again thing going on,” Herc said, coming around the counter with two barrels of loose leaf under both arms. “She's in France, he's here, both claim to be bad at long distance, hence the wishy-washy bullshit.”

“Except they're attached at the damn hip,” John said accusingly. “Look at this.”

He flashed Lafayette’s phone under Alex's nose and he caught a glimpse of an obscene amount of heart emojis. No context was given, but no context was really needed. John scrolled up farther and farther, Lafayette getting increasingly antsy from behind Herc. The only sounds came from John’s thumb tapping the screen a little harder than necessary, the ice maker whirring away in the kitchen, and the customers milling around the shop.

John’s head shot up from the phone, eyebrows waggling at a speed Alex didn’t know eyebrows could waggle. “Gilbert du Motier, you sly little--” 

Lafayette ducked under Alex’s arm, almost flinging him across the counter, and snatched the phone before John could move it away. He pressed a button and the phone locked. 

John was still smirking. “The lighting in your room’s pretty good, then?”

“ _Merde_ , Laurens, shut your insufferable mouth!” 

John snickered and turned back to Alex. “Adri’s cool. Probably a little too cool to be semi-quasi-almost dating that guy.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Lafayette, who had already started texting again, a dumb grin on his face and heart emojis practically coming out of his eyes. Alex nudged him.

“Well let’s see her!”

He jumped at the sudden intrusion, but then nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes… We’re also, how is it? Skip? Skap--”

“Skype,” John supplied, and Lafyatte nodded again.

“ _Skyping_ later, so you can meet her then, if you’d like.”

“That’d be great,” Alex said, taking the phone as he held it over John’s head. A girl’s Facebook profile stared back at him, _Marie Adrienne de Noailles_ , her cover photo was a field of sunflowers and the first status on her page was a line of French, a poem he hadn’t read before. Alex clicked on her profile picture, it was a selfie of an expressive-eyed girl, dark hair braided into a long rope slung over one brown shoulder, lipstick pout present and accounted for. Alex swiped through a few more (another selfie, no makeup this time, a flash of white teeth in a disarmingly beautiful smile, a group of girls in long dresses, her off to the left, a horse leaping over a barrel, the rider’s helmeted head unrecognizable except for one long braid, and a model on a runway, her lipstick smile present and accounted for). Alex handed the phone back.

“She’s beautiful,” he said, and Lafayette cracked a grin almost as wonderful as Adrienne’s. “She models?”

“A little, you know, off to the side,” he replied. Alex grabbed Libertea’s financial binder off of the shelf behind John and relocated to one of the bar stools beside Burr, accepting the new drink John slid across the counter. Lafayette leaned over, chin in hands, as Alex flipped open the binder.

“You can make sense of all that?”

“Yeah,” Alex said, turning page after page of shipment information. “Lee wasn’t very organized, though. This is a mess. Washington can’t submit this kind of stuff to try and get a _loan_.”

He could fix it, though. He had the brainpower, he had the skill. Of course it would be a lot of work, a lot of hours, and he’d need one thing that he wasn’t sure he had; Washington’s trust. To let someone he’d only known for a few weeks go through his entire business’ financial documents would take an awful amount of faith on Washington’s part, and after the Lee fiasco, Alex was afraid that faith was one thing his boss didn’t have in high supply.

Thoughts, ideas, and plans to fix the future of his current job swirled through Alex’s mind as he stared at the open binder, the fog of it all so thick that he didn’t realize Washington had entered until his boss had walked by him and into the kitchen. He shot up, grabbing the coffee John was ninety-nine percent done making, and dashed after him. 

“Here, sir, uh, got your coffee.” He handed it over with what he hoped was a winning grin, but, with his luck, probably came off more like an overeager grimace. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Of course, Mr. Hamilton.” Washington took the coffee and ushered Alex into his office. “Please, have a seat.”

“I want a promotion,” Alex said, hunching his shoulders as soon as he realized what had come out of his mouth. “I mean, sir, I think I have talents you’re not utilizing against King. Our books are a mess because of Lee, and--”

“I am well aware of the state of our books, Alexander.”

“Okay, well, then you know they’re abysmal, and you know I can fix it, you just gotta trust me.”

“This is not a question of trust,” Washington said, “this is a question of me putting my newest employee on the front lines in an attack against King. As soon as he learns that you are embroiled in my finances --you, young, impressionable, fiery _you_ \-- he’ll use it against me. Against you, against us, against Libertea. I won’t stand for it.”

Alex stood up. “I don’t care, I can do it, you _know_ I can! I can change the game, sir, I can--”

“I was just like you when I was younger,” Washington said, cutting him off, “I know what it’s like to want to fight everyone and everything, to be an underdog, the comeback kid story. I understand. And I also know that I won’t have King ruin your life, your career, for my shop.”

“My life is _mine_ , sir, and I want to choose to be able to--”

“That will be all, Mr. Hamilton.”

Washington picked up a pen and turned to a stack of paperwork on his desk, and Alex knew it was over. There wouldn’t be getting any more out of him for the rest of the day, he knew his boss well enough to know that. He turned his back on Washington and exited the office, slowly descending the stairs back into Libertea. He didn’t want to be just a barista anymore, he wanted to help fix things, create a system, make things run smoother.

He wanted to make a difference, even if it was only in one coffeeshop. It was one coffeeshop in what was undoubtedly the greatest city in the world. That had to count for something.

As soon as his foot hit the bottom step, he perked up. A Schuyler was in the shop, he could tell. He wasn’t sure if it was because he had developed a natural instinct for appeasing their clientele, or maybe he had a knack for customer service, or maybe he could hear Angelica Schuyler’s voice _through the walls of Libertea_. 

(It was that last one.)

“It sucks,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone that Alex heard before he even left the kitchen. “ _Sons_ of Libertea. Your name sucks. I thought we left the shitty gender stereotyping back in the eighteenth century.”

Alex pushed his way out of the kitchen just as Burr said--

“It’s just a name, Schuyler, drink your coffee.”

“No, no, Aaron, Angelique is right,” Lafayette said, pulling a bright orange sticky note out of Herc’s tea binder and scrawling something on it. He pulled up a stool and slapped the note right over top of the _Sons_ part of their logo hanging over the counter. The note said _People_ , and Angelica crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side, appraising it.

“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me with that whole thing--” she gestured at Lafayette’s entirety “--you have going on, but if you are, it didn’t work. I love it. Never take it down.”

Lafayette grinned and Burr rolled his eyes, deep into what Alex was sure was his fifth Americano of the day. Angelica whirled back around and stormed back over to the big table where she’d set up her laptop (her walk wasn’t angry, it was just very determined), and dropped her purse on one of the chairs. 

Alex took a quick peek at the line at the counter (three women, all with the same haircut and probably the same coffee order), deduced that John could handle himself, and slid into a chair across from Angelica. “Morning, Angelica.” 

He looked down at her coffee cup as she lifted her piercing gaze away from her laptop screen. John had doodled a lipstick smudge around the Libertea logo on her cup.

“Alexander,” she replied.

“Where’s the rest of the Schuyler gang?”

She shrugged one shoulder as she took off her coat, draping it over her knees. “I’m not sure. I told them I was coming here to work, so maybe they’ll show up later.”

“Work?” 

“I’m doing a study for class,” she replied. “Grammar and syntax in the eighteenth century. I might turn it into my dissertation, actually. It’s interesting.”

“Sure sounds like it,” John said as he slid into the chair beside Alex, and then yawned. He couldn’t have timed it better if he tried, even though Alex was pretty sure he tried. Angelica’s right eyebrow arched.

“Because I base the subject of my papers on the whims of random coffee shop baristas.”

“You really shouldn’t do that,” John said, “unless you want to write a paper about the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”

“Did that. It was my term paper last semester. Color coding and imagery in the TMNT universe dating back to the comic’s creation in 1984.”

John’s eyes bugged. “For _real_?”

Angelica shot him a scathing look. “No.”

“But how did you know when the comic--”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Angelica cut him off, nodding behind them at the counter. John rolled his eyes.

“The soccer moms? They only want the frou-frou health drinks Laf makes, or tea from Herc. And Burr can fend for himself. Come on, man, I work all day. Let me sit and chat.”

“John!” Herc bellowed from the counter. “Come make Burr an Americano!”

“Fuck,” John muttered and Alex nudged his shoulder.

“I’ll be right back up to keep you company.”

Alex caught a glimpse of freckles as John grinned over his shoulder at him for a brief moment, and then beat his retreat to the counter. Angelica fixed him with a deep, knowing look, an intimate look, a look that shouldn’t have been given to him by a girl he’d only known for a week.

Libertea’s bell rang as Eliza and Peggy Schuyler entered, laughing at some shared joke as they got in line. Eliza’s white and blue sundress brushed the skin above her knees, a silver chain glinted at her throat, and the light brushes of mascara along her eyelashes magnified her beautiful eyes, captivating Alex even as he sat across the room from her. 

She approached the counter and shared a quick repartee with John, her soft laugh reaching Alex’s ears, the laugh wrinkles around John’s eyes getting deeper as he grinned along with her even as his hands deftly crafted her drink. The freckles sprayed across his nose, the gleam of her rose lip gloss, his nimble fingers, her musical voice.

“He’s cute.” Angelica’s voice wrapped around his consciousness, yanking him out of his reverie.

“Who, John?” Alex asked, heat creeping up the back of his neck. “No, well, I mean, he’s not bad looking, wait, I mean, John and I are just co-workers, that’s all, we just work together. Do you want to date him? I mean, do you think he’s cute?”

Angelica graced Alex with the softest of smirks. “My sister’s cute, too, isn’t she?”

“Eliza?”

Her nod was slow and sure, and she seemed to taste the words in her lipstick mouth before she spoke them aloud. “Be careful, Alexander Hamilton. You can’t have it all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Alex eats dinner with the Schuylers, the boys get drunk after work, and Burr's got a special someone on the side. 
> 
> Headcanon for Adrienne = Anais Mali.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	7. Let's Have Another Round Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex eats dinner with the Shuylers, Herc makes the best shots, and Burr's got someone on the side.

Alex fidgeted in front of the mirror. In fact, he’d been fidgeting in front of the mirror for a good fifteen minutes, putting his hair back, letting it fall free, debating shaving the moustache and goatee combo he had going on, wondering if anyone in the apartment had any sort of cream or makeup or something to tame the bags under his eyes, brushing his teeth, brushing them again.

He’d been invited to the Schuylers’ for dinner.

Peggy had done the actual inviting. He had been sitting with them, questioning Angelica about her paper and sneaking covert little glances at Eliza as Peggy (real name Margarita, avid wearer of the color yellow and a big fan of the explosion emoji if the glimpse he’d gotten of her text history was anything to go by) played on her phone. She’d looked up at one point, holding her phone out so Angelica could see.

“Dad’s making brisket tonight,” she said, showing Eliza the same text before sliding the phone under Alex’s nose. “He wants us to come over.”

The picture that went along with the text showed a bubbling crockpot, full to the brim with meat, potatoes, and carrots. Alex’s mouth immediately started watering; the pancakes from that morning felt ages ago. 

“That looks fucking _good_ ,” he said. He couldn’t help himself.

“Come eat with us,” Peggy said, grabbing her phone back and immediately shooting off a text. The phone _ping_ ed. “Dad says it’s okay. What’s your name?”

Eliza looked over. “His name is Alexander, Peggy, and why would you invite him when you don’t even know his name?”

“No, no,” Alex backpedaled quickly, “I don’t want to impose. You guys barely know me, I made your drinks like, once, and yeah, your dad’s brisket makes me want to propose to it a little bit, but--”

Eliza turned to face him and smiled her soft smile. “No, you should come over. It’ll be nice, and my dad’s a great cook.”

“You might want to refrain from saying _fuck_ around him, though.” Angelica didn’t look up from her keyboard, fingers tapping away incessantly. “Or _shit_ , and definitely not _bitch_. I let the occasional _damn_ fly, though, so that should be fine.”

“You can string them all together, though,” Peggy stage whispered around Eliza’s back. “ _Shitmotherfuckingdamnbitch_. Say that. Loudly.”

“Margarita Schuyler!”

Peggy planted a delicate kiss on Eliza’s shoulder, batting her eyelashes at her older sister before looking back over at Alex. “So? What do you say?”

He’d said yes, and only regretted it a little bit. He was going for the brisket, that’s what he kept telling himself. That’s what he told John, anyway, although that didn’t stop him from getting pissed off almost immediately. He insisted he wasn’t, and that’s how Alex knew he was.

It was almost seven at night and he wasn’t even home from the shop yet; both Herc and Lafayette had gotten back to the apartment around a half hour after Alex had, and he expected John to follow them in, to no avail. Herc said he was deep cleaning the espresso machine. Laf said he only did that when he was pissed.

Alex wasn’t sure what he’d done to make John mad, but he was sure it had something to do with him accepting the invitation to eat at the Schuylers’. John hadn’t struck him as the overly possessive type, but with how close-knit the Libertea family was, maybe he didn’t want Alex to try and make new friends outside of the group. Well, Alex could do what he wanted. And what he wanted to do was try Mr Schuyler’s brisket, take Peggy up on her previously issued Scrabble challenge, and maybe, if the night went his way, try to get Eliza’s number. 

He hadn’t dated since coming to the city for college. Thanks to his workload, his brain was full to bursting at any given moment and thinking about adding another person’s emotions into the mix of it all seemed out of the question. That didn’t stop him from compiling a little list in the back of his mind; the times that cute girls smiled at him on campus, when the blond guy from his World History II course bought him a Mountain Dew, every single one of John’s doodles, the way Eliza’s hair swept down the nape of her neck.

The list was mushy and embarrassing and his favorite thing to think about. And he had a _lot_ to think about.

“Alex!” Herc yelled down the hall. “Don’t you have to leave soon?”

“Shit!” He ran his hands through his hair one last time --he decided it looked better down, it was doing that little turn-up-at-the-ends thing that he liked-- and darted out of the bathroom, only pausing to grab his jacket and spritz himself with a bottle of something that Lafayette tossed his way. It smelled good, just a hint of muskiness. One more spritz and he was on his way, throwing a salute to Herc and Laf and slamming the door behind him.

Despite Herc’s warning, he was actually a little ahead of schedule, so he decided to walk the few blocks between their apartment and the Schuylers’ parents’ place. He skirted Libertea, not wanting to run into John, and not knowing why he felt guilty about it.

He checked the address Peggy had scrawled on one of Libertea’s napkins and glanced up at the apartment complex he was standing in front of. This was the one, and there was a doorman. Tassels on his shoulderpads and everything. _Shit_.

“Alexander Hamilton?” the doorman asked, checking a list of his own. Alex nodded, a little apprehensively, very aware of the hole in the toe of his black Converse. “The Schuylers are expecting you. Follow me.”

He did just that, trailing the doorman (his nametag said _Rafel_ ) all the way to a set of chrome elevator doors. Rafel hit the button for the twenty-first floor and took a step back. 

“I’ll buzz up to let them know you’re on your way,” he said as the doors opened. 

Alex nodded and stepped into the elevator. “Uh, thanks, Rafe. Can I call you Rafe?”

The doors whispered shut before the doorman could answer, leaving Alex all alone in the gilded elevator, staring at his reflection in the polished double doors. He fidgeted and wondered if he’d made a mistake, if he was going to intrude on an intimate family dinner with people he didn't even know, if it all was an elaborate prank. Peggy seemed like the pranking type. It took one to know one. 

Before he could change his mind and do something drastic like slam the elevator’s panic button or sit on the floor and refuse to leave, the elevator dinged like the end cycle of a microwave. The doors slid open and the first thing he was able to take in was Peggy’s white-tooth grin.

“You made it!”

“I made it,” he agreed, letting her grab him by the arm and pull him out of the elevator. He missed it immediately. He felt too exposed in the wide hallway, it was only him, Peggy, and another pair of double doors a few steps down, cream white with a gold set of numbers ( _twenty-one_ ) and an intimidating lion head knocker.

Peggy herself was wearing something different than she’d been wearing at the shop earlier. A shiny pair of black leggings tucked into ankle boots, a denim shirt, her signature red lipstick and yellow hair ribbon. She looked nice, and Alex fought the urge to poke his socked toe through the hole in his Converse.

“Last chance to let me bow out gracefully,” he said. Peggy rapped on the door.

“Forgot my key,” she said over her shoulder. “And since when have you ever done anything gracefully?”

Alex had no answer to that, and even if he did, he probably wouldn’t have been able to get the words out. The Schuylers’ apartment exceeded the expectations he’d been psyching himself up for all night; it was all vaulted ceilings, white pillars, high windows with drapes pooling elegantly on the marble floor. Peggy moved past him, hip-bumping Angelica, who had opened the door for them.

Her gaze swept over him.

“Nice shoes.”

“Nice house,” he fired back, “or is this just where you greet the lowly populace?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s our parents’ apartment, Alexander, find your chill. They’re old New York money, and my dad just has a thing for pillars.”

“I can see that.”

“Take a shot every time he talks about golf,” Peggy whispered, ducking behind Alex to take a tray from Eliza, who had emerged from a side hallway. Peggy maneuvered around him again, balancing the tray on one hand and her phone in the other. Angelica rolled her eyes again.

“He’s also a big fan of golf.”

Alex grinned at her and then at Eliza, who handed Peggy another tray and deposited herself on Alex’s left hand side, panting a little bit. 

“Brisket is _heavy_ , okay?”

“He does know we invited one guy, not the entire coffee shop, right?” Angelica asked. “Peggy exaggerates, especially over text. How much, exactly--”

“There’s a lot,” Eliza replied, “we’re going to be sent home with enough leftovers to feed an army.” She poked Alex’s arm. “And there’s no way _you’re_ going back to your apartment empty-handed. Hercules claimed he could make better brisket than my father, and I want to prove him wrong.”

“If Herc's brisket is anything like his pancakes…” Alex trailed off, thinking wistfully of that morning, him, Herc, and John sitting on the floor with plates of breakfast, his stomach full of pancakes and not gnawing nervousness. Eliza poked him in the arm and, despite the aforementioned nervousness, he melted a little.

“Don’t say that in front of my dad,” she said. “We want him to _like_ you, remember?”

“And why is that again?” Angelica asked. “I never brought Starbucks baristas home to meet the parents. Even though I could’ve, that one guy who screwed up Peggy’s drink a few weeks ago was _fine_ \--”

And that was when Mr. Schuyler burst into the room, hands full of more brisket, a pitcher of lemonade (with actual slices of lemon floating among the ice), and a bowl of mixed green, purple, and orange shreds that Alex didn’t have a name for. He passed the dishes out among his daughters, clapped Alex on the shoulder, and insisted he call him Philip. Alex agreed, but called him _Mr. Schuyler_ for the rest of the night, anyway.

The actual dinner passed by in no time at all. Mr, Schuyler’s wife, Catharine, made sure his plate was never empty, and Peggy, sitting on his left, made sure he was always biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing inappropriately. If he was being honest, he wasn’t sure if anything he did was appropriate; the Schuylers had cloth napkins and chandeliers, and he felt wildly out of place.

In spite of all the old money trappings, the Schuylers were, for lack of a better word, fun. Eliza had a bright pink Post-It that she kept ripping bits from, wadding them up and shooting them across the table at Angelica, trying to make it into her v-neck blouse. If Angelica caught one, she’d flick it back, and Alex lost count of how many Post-It bits ended up stuck in his hair. He’d find them later.

Peggy, from his other side, had her phone (a big no-no, apparently, as Mrs. Schuyler had made a big deal of turning hers off at the beginning of dinner), and every time her mom’s back was turned, she and Alex would take a picture on Snapchat and swap faces. The only one of Alex’s friends she had on Snapchat was Herc, and he was the recipient of at least twelve face swapped selfies.

After he learned where Alex worked, Mr. Schuyler launched into a long story involving him, Washington, and a particularly rowdy game of golf. Alex did his best to remember all the details (Washington had missed an easy shot and launched his club into a lake, he’d worn plaid shorts, his wraparound sunglasses had been crushed under the front wheels of the golf cart), so he could tell his roommates. 

Something productive did come out of the night, though; he made sure to slip Washington’s predicament with George King trying to take over the shop in between Mr. Schuyler’s golf anecdotes. He seemed to be on Washington’s side, even though he didn’t seem overly mad about it like Alex was, but he didn’t press the issue. Alex decided that he’d tell Washington later and he could reach out to Schuyler if he wanted his help; he didn’t want to step on any toes, especially not after being denied control of Libertea’s finances. That blatant lack of trust on Washington’s part still hurt.

A small part of his brain, a part that he didn’t want to acknowledge, knew that Washington was proud. There was a chance that he’d deny needing help until Libertea was destroyed. 

Alex would never let that happen, even if it put his own job on the line.

He left the Schuylers that night with a plastic bag stacked with Tupperware full of brisket, rolls, and that shredded salad Eliza had explained was called coleslaw (it was good, if a little vinegar-y). He also left with a book from Angelica (French poetry, he’d learned she spent a summer abroad in France and was just as fluent as he was), a bruise on his shin from Peggy (she’d kicked him under the table after he almost choked at her, frankly inappropriate, use of the word _shaft_ ), and a set of numbers from Eliza. 

She’d plugged her number into his phone under the guise of _text me when you get home safe_ , and he planned on definitely doing that.

But as soon as he stepped out of the elevator, tipped Rafe with everything in his pockets (two crumpled dollar bills, fifty-two cents, and an unopened pack of gum Herc had tossed him before he left the apartment), he got a different text. Not from Eliza, but from Lafayette.

**Laf**

GdM: text me when youre done @ the schuys

AH: Literally just stepped out the door, Laf, I have the funniest fucking story for you

GdM: cant wait!! were not at home, come 2 the shop

AH: Sounds good, be there in 5 minutes

AH: It has to do with Washington and plaid shorts

GdM: MERDE

Not two seconds later, his phone buzzed again.

**HERCULES MULLIGAN**  


HM: wht the hell did u text marquis

HM: he is face first on the floor 

HM: he might be laughing but i think he’s crying

HM: i mean he’s had a few drinks but still

And then buzzed for a third time.

**J. Laurz**

JL: ur coming right????????

JL: i have an entire 12 pack of sam adams & half have ur name on them

JL: drank 2 already, working on #3

JL: hurry uuuuuuuuuuupppppppppppppp

AH: I’m on my way!!

JL: fucking finally

He stopped by the apartment to put his leftovers in the fridge before heading down to the shop. The front door to Libertea was locked, the curtains were pulled down (all except for the fourth window from the door, it was half-drawn and Alex made a mental note to pull it all the way down), and the continental soldier _OPEN_ sign was flipped to _CLOSE_. Alex unlocked the door and slipped inside, closing and locking it again behind him.

He caught the can John threw his way.

“You’re behind, Ham, drink up.”

John had cleared off the bar and was sitting with his back propped against the pastry display, Herc was cross-legged on the floor, an array of colorful bottles and an intimidating amount of shot glasses in front of him, and Lafayette was spread-eagle on the big table, shirtless.

He jerked a thumb at Lafayette as he let loose a string of impressively slurred French, jumbled enough that Alex had no idea what he was saying. “What’s going on over there?”

“He’s on the phone with Adrienne,” Herc said as Alex cracked the tab on his can and pulled up a stool. He was right, Laf’s phone was on the table right by his head and if Alex strained he could hear her reply, her voice tinny and distorted from the phone, but a lot less slurred than his. “He gets pretty mushy when he’s wasted.”

“How long have you been down here?”

John craned his neck to see the microwave in the kitchen. “Eh, two hours. Give or take a few shots.”

He accepted the purple and brown shot Herc passed up to him and threw it back. Herc handed Alex one in varying shades of green, steaming a little on the top. He shrugged and threw it back. It tasted like lime vodka and burned his throat.

“So you mix drinks after you mix tea all day?” he asked Herc after coughing and chasing the shot with a gulp of beer. This was probably not the best idea, but he didn’t want to be the only sober one out of the group. Herc handed him another shot, this one red and orange.

“I like to experiment,” he said by way of explanation, knocking back a blue one. John made grabby hands towards him and he made another of the same kind, passing it up.

The red and orange shot tasted like cranberry and oranges, and he accepted another, sliding off the stool until he was sitting against the bar, right underneath John. Lafayette joined the two of them on the floor, taking a drink right out of Herc’s bottle of Absolut. 

“Get your damn lips off of that, I brought cups for a fucking reason,” Herc grumbled, grabbing the bottle back as Lafayette leaned into him, using his shoulder as a pillow. 

“I miss Adri,” he said. John scoffed and jumped down from the bar, stumbling a little and collapsing on the floor as well, half on top of Alex. The sudden warmth of John at his side was nice, and Alex wasn’t about to move away. 

“Don’t get all lovey-dovey on me right now, okay? Drink this.”

He pushed his can into Lafayette’s hands and popped the tab on another one, and for a little while they all drank in silence, Herc supplying Alex with two more red and orange shots. He was as good at mixing drinks as John was at making espresso, and in no time at all the four of them were practically laying on top of each other in a pile on Libertea’s wooden floor, giggling in spurts at nothing.

“So… The Schuylers,” Alex managed to get out. John threw a can in the general direction of the trash can, it missed by a mile.

“Was it garbage?”

“Nah… But they’re so rich, I was out of place. That sucked.”

“Who the fuck cares how much money they have? You’re Alex fucking Hamilton. If they don’t want you there, then that’s their fucking problem, right Herc?”

Herc snickered. “Fucking problem.”

This set them all off into another round of giggles until Alex sobered up enough to say--

“Washington in plaid shorts!”

\--which rendered them all useless for another ten minutes. In between spurts of laughter, John’s head somehow found his way onto Alex’s chest, and Alex, without thinking, threaded his fingers in and out of his curls, untying his ponytail and slipping the elastic onto his own wrist. John’s shoulders relaxed and he closed his eyes.

“Fuck, that feels nice.”

“You feel nice,” Herc muttered somewhere to Alex’s left and, from somewhere to Alex’s right, Lafayette descended into another fit of giggles. John sat up without warning, knocking Alex’s hand to the side.

“Fuck, guys, I think there’s someone out there!”

Alex sat up too, ignoring the sudden _woosh_ sound going on in his head, and looked out the window. The window with the half-pulled down shade. The window that Aaron Burr was currently peering through.

“It’s only Burr.” John fell back but Alex wasn’t there for him to land on, and he grunted as his head hit the floor. “ _Fuck_. No one let him in.”

Burr knocked on the door, three raps, quick and efficient, and when that didn’t garner any response, he knocked again. And again. Alex’s head spun.

“I gotta let him in, he’s not going to stop until I do.” 

John groaned. “It had to be _Burr_. Party officially over.”

Alex managed to stand, find his keys, and make his stumbling way over to the door. He caught one glimpse of Burr (eyebrow raised, supremely indignant expression on his face) before he attacked the keyhole with the skill and dexterity of, well, a drunk.

It took him exactly seven and a half minutes, but, soon enough, Burr joined the group. Alex collapsed in his spot next to John, Burr perched on a stool. Alex accepted John’s half-finished can of Sam Adams, Burr declined the bottle of vodka Herc tried to pass him.

He looked at each of them, gaze landing on Alex.

“So I was walking by and saw Lafayette,” he said, “on the floor, shirtless. Does Washington know you use his shop as a… What is this? Party? Rave? Sad group of drunken idiots sitting on the floor?”

“Washington fucking loves me,” Lafayette said from somewhere behind Herc, and the four of them dissolved into uncontrollable giggles. Burr arched his eyebrow higher, if that was even possible, and didn’t look nearly as amused as Alex felt. He reached out and slapped at Burr’s leg.

“C’mon, Aaron, why the long face?”

“Still bitter about the job interview back in the day?” Herc said. “Old news, man, get over it.”

“Job interview?” Alex asked.

Burr rolled his eyes. “Since you won’t remember any of this tomorrow morning, I applied for a job here. I was… Not the right fit.”

“Washington did _not_ want you,” John said, still giggling intermittently. “Did not, did not did not…”

“We get it, Laurens.”

“You are the _worst_ , Burr,” Lafayette sung out from wherever he was, Alex didn’t feel like sitting up to check on him. He could see Burr, who rolled his eyes again.Alex felt like if Burr entered into and eye rolling competition, he would win. He’d at least get silver. 

“You’d get silver,” he said out loud. 

Burr looked down at him disdainfully. “Why am I sober right now?”

“Why were you creepin’ around outside, anyways?” Herc asked, stretching out on his back. Alex could finally catch a glimpse of Lafayette’s ponytail. “Meeting up with your, uh, special _someone on the side_?”

The color drained from Burr’s face and his eyes widened like a raccoon blinded by headlights. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

John sat up quicker than he would’ve if he was struck by lightning, falling over again almost immediately, landing on Herc in a pile of limbs and empty beer cans. He twisted around until he could look over his shoulder.

“What’re you tryin’ to hide, Burr?”

Burr stood. “I should go.”

“No, these guys should go,” Alex said quickly, gesturing at his friends, before Burr could leave. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but Burr looked spooked beyond belief and at a loss for words, which had never been the case in the weeks Alex had known him. Something was wrong. 

“What?” Lafayette asked blearily.

“No!” John curled around Herc’s arm to get a good look at Alex. 

“Let me talk to Aaron.” He stood without falling over, which was a feat unto itself, and held out a hand to help John off the floor. His hand was warm and solid, and Alex held onto it a little longer than necessary as John leaned into him for the briefest of seconds before rocking back on his heels and forward again, finding his footing.

“ _Maaaaaaan_ ,” Herc said, drawing it out, as he stood, gathered the few unopened bottles still scattered around, handed them to John, and hefted Lafayette into a very unsteady fireman’s carry. Lafayette muttered something in French that Alex didn’t catch, his tired eyes unfocused behind hooded lids.

John squeezed Alex’s hand once before unlocking Libertea’s door, holding it open for Herc, and then closing it after himself. Alex regarded Burr through his fuzzy, alcohol-heavy vision.

“You have a girlfriend?” he asked, all pretenses gone.

“No,” Burr answered.

“Boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Fuckbuddy, then? Friends with benefits? Herc said _someone on the side_ …”

“Mulligan doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about,” Burr said, biting out the profanity with emphasis and venom that Alex had never heard come from his mouth before. Alex cocked his head to the side.

“You can tell me.”

“You won’t like it.”

“What do you mean?”

Burr took a deep breath, like he was steeling himself for battle. “She’s engaged. To be _married_. To someone who works for George King.”

Alex felt his eyebrows raise of their own accord. “Oh, shit.”

“No kidding.”

“But you love her?”

“More than anything in this entire world, Alexander. More than the diploma hanging from my wall. More than my internships. More than, I don’t know.” He looked up, his deep brown eyes looking warmer and more open than Alex had ever seen. “She’s vibrant and wild and… I’ve never loved anything like her before.”

“If you love her, and she loves you, I don’t see the problem.” Alex leaned forward like his momentum could physically push Burr out the door and into the arms of his mystery woman. “Go get her! What are you waiting for?”

“Alexander, she’s engaged.”

“So the two of you can sneak around her fiance but she can’t break off her engagement?”

Burr rubbed his forehead with one hand and let out a sigh from the depths of his soul. “That’s not how this works. I have to bide my time, I have to wait for it.”

“Wait for _what_? Her wedding day? Don’t be that guy, Burr, everyone hates that guy.” 

“The guy she’s unfaithful with? I think I’m already there.”

He stood, offering Alex his hand. He took it.

The one glaring thing his drunken brain registered was Burr’s hand wasn’t at all like John’s. Burr’s hand was smooth and soft, but cold, like no one stayed long enough to warm it up. John’s hand had Sharpie all over it, little ink spots interspersed throughout the freckles. He had a callous on his thumb from the faulty lever on the espresso machine, he had short nails because he tended to bite them when he was angry, he still had a faint bruise on his knuckles from where he’d punched out Charles Lee. 

Burr took his hand back as soon as Alex was on his feet, and ushered him towards the door.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.

Alex groaned. “Morning.”

The corner of Burr’s mouth twitched upwards at that. “Here, I’ll walk you to the apartment. Don’t want you passing out in a gutter somewhere.”

He took Alex’s keys and unlocked the door, supported him until they were outside, and re-locked it behind them. Alex didn’t complain as they walked up the street together, Burr’s arms half-carrying him at some points of the journey, until they were underneath the apartment’s overhang. Burr opened one of the double doors for him.

“Goodnight, Alexander.”

“Thanks, Aaron, I owe you one. Your Americano’s on the house tomorrow.”

“That’s why I do it. The free coffee.” Burr actually did smile this time, Alex caught the tail end of it as the door slowly swung shut. 

He slowly made his way up to their floor, using the stairs opposed to taking the elevator because even the thought of light-up buttons was enough to make his head spin. They’d left the door open for him, and he locked it behind him and made his way to his room. 

Herc hadn’t made it back to his bed after depositing Lafayette in his, and was passed out on the bigger couch. He peeked into John’s room, just to make sure he’d made it safely; John was there, laying face-first on his bed, wearing nothing but boxers and one red sock. 

“‘Night, John,” he said quietly.

He stirred. “Alex?”

“Sorry, I was just making sure you, I don’t know, got home safe.”

“I tried to wait up for you but--”

“No, it’s fine, go to sleep. We have like four hours before we gotta go to work.”

“Come… Come... “ John beckoned blearily, motioning towards Alex and then towards him, towards the spot on his bed next to him. “Come on. Come here.”

“John, I gotta go to bed,” Alex said, backing out of the room. “I'll, uh, see you tomorrow.”

He closed the door behind him, leaning against it, eyes wide, alcohol-soaked brain whirring at a mile a minute. John was just drunk, they both were, and he probably just wanted a warm body next to him. He probably just wanted him to spend the night so he wouldn’t be alone in his current state. And he’d just walked out. Was he an idiot?

“Am I an idiot?” he whispered to the empty hallway.

He managed to do two things before collapsing on his sofa bed. He managed to brush his teeth and he managed to get out of his jeans, and then his eyelids became too heavy for him to handle, and gravity took over.

The last thing he thought, as he drifted off staring at the bright red _**2:13**_ of his digital clock, was that he never texted Eliza to tell her if he’d gotten home safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Burr.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	8. Wait For It, Wait For It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burr.

Aaron Burr leaned against the door to the apartment complex, the cold metal seeping through even the thick wool of his winter coat. He had just shown Alexander Hamilton inside, watched him determinedly stumble up the steps instead of using the elevator like a normal human being, drunk off his ass.

They all had been. John Laurens, the loudmouthed barista, the reason Burr even came to Sons Of Libertea every morning for his coffee. Gilbert du Motier, whom they all called Lafayette for some reason. Hercules Mulligan, who thought he knew everything.

He knew _nothing_.

Burr braced himself against the sudden wind, whipping up the street in the dark of the morning. He checked his watch. Two eleven. Of course. Nothing good ever happens after two A.M.

He’d met Theodosia on a night like this. Cold, windy, late or early, depending on how one looked at things. He’d say late at night, she’d say early morning. He was leaving the bar, she was just arriving. The two of them were completely incompatible, completely wrong for each other.

He fell for her instantly.

(He hadn’t missed the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. A big diamond. An engagement ring. He remembered thinking _at least it’s not a wedding ring_ right before thinking _what the hell is wrong with me._ )

They spent exactly four hours together that first night, sequestered in a booth in the back corner of the bar, and he was more open with her than he’d ever been with anyone, historically. He told her things that he hadn’t even admitted to himself, deep things, raw, honest things. He told her, looking right into her dark, lovely eyes, that he, Aaron Burr, had never known a day without fear.

She made him fearless.

He turned up his coat collar as he walked into the wind, down the street towards his apartment building. Not hers, not tonight. He’d been there earlier, stealing five minutes of her time before her fiance, a man named James Prevost that Burr had Googled but never met, got off of work. 

There was a chance that this would end peacefully, that he and Theo would get their happily ever after, but he still had to live through the middle part. The messy part. And then the fallout after the messy part. There was no scenario he’d imagined where there wasn’t a messy part. Hell, he was sleeping with a woman engaged to a different man; he’d be happy if he emerged from the mess with Theo and all his limbs intact.

He passed the coffeeshop on his way down the road, the one set of blinds was still half-pulled and he could see the mess of Mulligan’s shot glasses and Laurens’ empty beer cans on the floor, reflected in the one beam of moonlight that made it through the window. He didn’t understand the draw of it, getting drunk with other people, sitting on the floor and just laughing at nothing. To him, getting drunk wasn’t a social event, certainly not something to do with roommates, people who were always in close proximity. He’d never gotten drunk in public before.

Theo had, a few times, and he’d carried her to a cab and all the way up to her thirty-second floor apartment, usually unlocking the door and ushering her inside alone if he knew that Prevost was there. Sometimes, increasingly more often, he was away on some work trip for King, and Burr would carry Theo inside himself, help her undress, and get into bed with her. She’d curl up beside him, head of dreadlocks resting on his chest, murmuring nothings as she drifted off to sleep.

He loved those nights. He couldn’t wait until that was normal.

But until then, until Theo broke things off with Prevost, he would bide his time. He was good at that. Waiting, alone, in the wings of someone’s life, of someone’s business, of someone’s classroom, until it was his time to come forward and sweep the floor. He won all of his classroom debates that way, waiting until the end, until everyone’s opinions were already stewing in the center, cherrypicking the parts of arguments that could service him and leaving the rest behind, speaking in his low, dulcet tones until his classmates seemed incomprehensible in comparison.

In one evaluation, a professor had written one word in commanding strokes of black ink: _inimitable_.

If he had to wait in the sidelines for Theodosia Bartow --the love of his life, hell embodied in the soul of a woman, her slim hand tangled in the sinews of his heart-- it was the most comfortable place for him to be.

Alexander would disagree. Burr could hear his voice clear as polished glass, brushing past his ear in the wind, clicking with the soles of his shoes on cobblestone. _If you love her and she loves you…_

... _go get her…_

... _what are you waiting for…_

Alexander Hamilton was his opposite. He knew that from the very beginning, when he tracked him across campus just to ask if he could follow the same track to early graduation that Burr had. He was headstrong, aggressive, scrappy, and he was loud as all hell. Burr was deliberate, cautious, calculating. The fact that he could list off those things about himself proved his point.

If asked to write an essay about himself, Alexander would probably go on for pages, whereas Burr would only need three short words.

He didn’t understand how Alexander could be so confident, so self assured, when he was also so loud and brash. How he didn’t care what other people thought, how he boldly asserted himself into Libertea enough to get himself a job without really trying, how he flung that drink right into Samuel Seabury’s face without thinking about the consequences. 

If Burr was honest with himself, he’d like to be friends with Alexander. He’d like to pick his brain, figure out what went on underneath that usually messy ponytail. People like John Laurens didn’t have that problem; if the John Laurens’ of the world wanted to know what the Alexander Hamiltons were thinking, they just asked, and the Alexander Hamiltons would tell them without hesitation.

But the Aaron Burrs of the world had to watch. They had to wait. They had to plot in silence, and once they formed an opinion, they were never proven wrong.

Burr hadn’t formed an opinion on Alexander yet, but there was no doubt that he would.

He turned the corner that brought him face-to-face with his apartment complex, swiping his key card and entering the six-digit password and stepping back as the doors swung open. It was late enough that the doorman had gone home, but he wasn’t usually there when Burr was, anyway.

His apartment was nice; he’d decked it out in designer pieces with the help of Theodosia and his parents’ trust fund. His favorite thing in his home was either the ceramic elephant sculpture on the coffeetable or the painting hanging over the fireplace. It was an oil painting of a ship lost at sea, a storm brewing in the distance and mermaids swimming underneath the hull, taunting the sailors.

It was a Bartow original, and Theodosia had painted it for him for his birthday last year. He remembered unwrapping it and fixing her with a wry stare.

“This isn’t at all prophetic, is it?” he remembered asking. She’d laughed, one of her real ones, deep from her stomach, and they’d hung it together, alternating sips from a bottle of moscato until they were both on the couch, a tangle of limbs and the long sleeves of her dress. 

He had never asked her why she was still with Prevost. That was her business, and while he wanted nothing more than to be completely and fully immersed in her business and everything it brought with it, he knew how to play the game.

There was a specific corner of his bedroom dedicated to shoes, and that’s where he kicked off his Oxfords, making sure not to scuff the dark leather with his heel. The belt went on a hook, the pants went on a hanger along with his jacket, and he threw the shirt into the hallway to be washed. He had the next day off, he’d do laundry then, maybe tackle the few dishes he knew were still soaking in the double kitchen sink.

He pulled on a soft pair of plaid pajama pants and a black tanktop, and his phone buzzed as he moved into the bathroom to complete his bedtime routine. He read the text as he ran his toothbrush under water.

**Theodosia Bartow**

TB: goodnight babe (kiss face emoji)

TB: i know you’re still up so don’t pretend youre asleep!!

TB: maybe we’ll see each other 2morro?

He left the toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, ignored the minty burn of toothpaste on his tongue, and replied.

**Theodosia Bartow**

AB: Absolutely. I have off, should be free whenever you are.

AB: Can’t wait. I love you.

The breath caught in his throat as soon as he sent the text. His toothbrush fell out of his mouth, clattering onto the tiles and spraying the floor with foam as he stared dumbly at his phone, at the impulsive text, at the three pulsing words. _I love you._

Those words tumbled, uninhibited, from everyone else’s mouths, fingertips, actions, but never his. Aaron Burr did not say _I love you_ , he did not say it over text, and he certainly did not say it to another man’s fiancee. 

A grey bubble popped up, three dots, typing.The phone felt slick in his tight grip, and a cold sweat actually broke out on his forehead.

**Theodosia Bartow**

TB: youre sweet. i love you more!!! (heart emoji)

TB: now get to sleep, i have big plans for l8r (3 wink emojis)

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and slumped against the sink, leaning over to rinse out his mouth and splashing his face with cold water for good measure. The walk back to his bed was a blur; he plugged his charger into the wall and dropped his head onto the pillow.

Before sleep could claim him and hopefully erase the night he’d spent with the drunk group of Libertea employees, his phone lit up one last time.

**Theodosia Bartow**

TB: i wish i was with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Alex gets to know a few more of Libertea's regulars, and has a meeting with the boss. 
> 
> Headcanon for Theodosia: Zoë Kravitz. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	9. And His Right Hand Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The squad battles hangovers, Alex meets some more Libertea regulars, and Washington has a proposition.

“I’m never drinking again.”

Alex lifted his pounding head off of the counter in time to watch John’s drop, forehead-first, right onto the open newspaper that Burr was currently reading. Or pretending to, because Alex was pretty sure he hadn’t taken his eyes off of his phone since he stepped in the door. 

“You need liquid to survive, Laurens,” he said, fingers flying across the screen as he sent out text after text. Alex briefly wondered who Burr was texting --probably Theodosia, his mystery woman-- before he started wondering something different, namely if he could make it to the trashcan in the kitchen before he hurled all over Burr, the newspaper, and probably John.

That morning hadn’t been pretty.

Herc, whom Alex was sure was immune to hangovers, had woken him up by carrying him to the kitchen, depositing him at the table propped between John and a half-asleep Lafayette, and forced all of them to eat at least one plate of scrambled eggs and bacon before herding them down to Libertea, five minutes before opening. The pastry case was still empty, save for some of the previous day’s cookies and one very sad looking orange cranberry scone. 

“No,” John was saying, face still planted on Burr’s paper, “I’m banning everything. Alcohol. Water. All liquids. Fuck liquids.”

“You work in a coffeeshop,” Burr said. “You made me this very liquid Americano five seconds ago. And it’s pretty damn disgusting, Laurens, not your best work.”

“Fuck you.”

Burr actually laughed at that, flashing his teeth with a very light chuckle, almost indiscernible really, but still very much a laugh, before turning back to his phone. “Oh, I hope Washington comes in today, I really do.”

Alex tried to make a comment, something witty, probably about how he’d never seen Burr’s teeth before that moment, that he wasn’t sure Burr even _had_ teeth until he’d smiled, and how it was a really nice smile at that, _you tell me to smile more but it’s you who probably should, Aaron,_ but he couldn’t in fear of his entire head exploding. 

Hangovers, man. If alcohol was a gift from the devil, hangovers were God’s way of taking back control.

Luckily enough for the three supremely hungover Libertea employees (and Herc), the morning passed by with relative sluggishness. If Alex was his normal self, he and John would’ve been bouncing off the walls by the time the clock hit ten; he’d have had at least three mocha chip frappes and John would have stolen enough of Lafayette’s cake pops to feed an army. Instead, he spent the morning nursing the biggest bottle of water he could buy from the bodega down the street, intermittently popping Advil when Herc said it was okay to have another one, watching as John slept on Burr’s newspaper (he’d given up trying to retrieve it and had gotten a new one). 

Herc had taken over manning the counter, not like there was much for him to do. Burr was the only customer in the store, and he was taking his time with John’s awful Americano, drinking it almost as slowly as Alex was drinking his water. No one knew where Lafayette had gotten to --there was an abandoned half-mixed bowl of scone dough in the kitchen-- but Herc said he’d guess up to Washington’s vacant office to sleep it off. Alex didn’t blame him. If _he_ was hungover, he had no idea what Lafayette felt like.

The medicine and the water finally kicked in around ten thirty, not enough that he was his normal energetic self, but enough to not want to curl up under the counter every time a customer came in. That was a good thing, because the morning had been slow, but the midmorning rush was real and intense. 

The still-pretty-hungover John had stolen Lafayette’s noise-cancelling headphones from on top of the kitchen fridge, and he and Alex worked out sort of a system. Alex scribbled the drink order on a Post-It, stuck the Post-It to the still-empty pastry case, and John made the drink (Alex guessed he was too hungover for cup doodles) without talking to or interacting with a single human. Alex manned the register like he was manning the wheel of a ship, determined to be a good face for the store, especially if Washington showed up.

He scribbled “ _LIT_ ” onto a Post-It, John’s acronym for lemon iced tea, and the drink slid across the counter a minute later, edited Post-It attached. “ _Fuckin LIT_ ”. Alex grinned and slipped it into the breast pocket of his apron.

Two peach frappes, one Americano refill for Burr, six customers wondering about the whereabouts of cake pops, three regular coffees, and two iced coffees later, the headphones were gone and John was back, pushing a mocha chip across the counter towards Alex. There was a curly haired, freckled self portrait on the side, an X over each eye and tongue hanging out. Alex took a sip, grinning.

“So, last night was fun.”

John laughed, raking his hair back into a messy ponytail and replacing his hairnet. “Whatever you say, Hammy. Glad you liked it.”

“You guys do that often?”

“Get completely smashed where we work? Nah.” He raised an eyebrow. “Now getting completely smashed at _home_ is a different story…”

“Morning, Mrs. Ross,” Herc yelled from across the store as an older woman entered Libertea. She was wearing a green bucket hat and a heavy overcoat, and carried a quilted satchel decorated like a colonial flag, the same style as their aprons. John flew into action, and soon was handing her a tall cup full of ice and Herc’s blend of green tea. 

“Thank you, Mr. Laurens,” she said, taking a seat at the bar and resting her bag on her knees. “And I haven’t seen this one around, what’s your name, dear?”

This was to Alex, and he came to stand next to John. “Alex, Alex Hamilton, ma’am.”

“None of that, now, call me Betsy,” she said, and Alex shook her hand. “I know all of these boys, helped decorate the place myself, actually. They tell you about me?”

“No, ma’am,” Alex said. Mrs. Ross leaned across the counter to swat John with a handful of napkins, and he looked duly ashamed. “Did you make our aprons, too?”

“Look at the bottom seam,” she said, and Alex flipped up the bottom of his apron. _B. Ross_ was stitched in white thread across the end seam. 

“I’ve known George for years,” she continued, “and Martha for longer, she’s a regular at my store a few blocks over; I sew and do repairs. Had Mr. Mulligan as sort of an apprentice for a while, too, so I had to put a little of my own flair into this place. And this one--” she swatted John again “--even comes to all my art shows. Landscape painting, mostly. He’s a sweetheart, even if he acts like--”

“ _Hey_!” John said, and she cocked her head to one side, smiling sweetly.

“I said nothing, John Laurens.”

“Damn right you didn’t,” he said, pouring more tea over the ice in her cup. More customers entered, forming a short line, and Alex jumped to attention as John leaned his elbows on the counter, talking to Mrs. Ross about her last art show and a piece he liked, a painting of a skyline she called _Stars and Stripes_. He made a mental note to ask John to let him tag along next time he went.

“What can I get you?” he asked the next person in line, a beefy tall guy, wearing tight biking shorts and a shirt wet enough that Alex was sure he could literally wring it into a bucket. Despite all the signs of physical exertion, his blond hair was in a perfect coif, and he had a dazzling, white-toothed, easy grin.

“Uh, what do I usually get here?” This wasn’t to Alex, but to someone directly behind him, a girl, who ducked in front of the guy, who Alex dubbed Sweaty Abs. She leveled Alex with a withering stare.

“I want a caramel chocolate frappe, he wants some health drink. You do one with kale, right? He’ll take that.”

She pushed back her mass of dark curls, secured by a pink and blue headband, and pulled a water bottle off of the holster on her belt. Like Sweaty Abs, she was dressed in biking gear, but significantly less sweaty. Alex was ninety-nine percent sure she’d be able to crush his head like a walnut between her thighs.

He wrote the frappe order down and slid the Post-It to John, who was still engrossed in conversation, and grabbed some kale and the blender from the kitchen. Lafayette usually made the health drinks, but he watched him enough times to have a small amount of (shaky) confidence that he could recreate one.

“--and what was your time again?” the girl, Alex named her Biceps (they were almost as impressive as her thighs), was asking, elbowing Sweaty Abs right in his sweaty abs. “No judgement, just let me know.”

“Twelve minutes, fifty seconds,” he said, rolling his eyes, “and you knew that already.”

“Not my fault I crushed you,” she said, taking a swig from her water bottle. “But I did. Crush you, I mean.”

“I get it, Syb.” He rolled his eyes again, but the corner of his mouth twitched up like he was suppressing a grin as he looked down at Biceps, who had to be at least a full head shorter than him, even counting her hair. 

“You love me,” she countered, “me and my two minute twenty-two second time. Two. Minutes. And--”

“Caram-choco-frappe,” John said, right as Alex slid the kale smoothie onto the counter. “Hey, it’s you guys! Hold on…”

He lined up their drinks and went to work with his Sharpie, drawing a tandem bike that went from one cup to the other. Biceps grabbed both of them, passing the green cup up to Sweaty Abs, and attacking her own drink, downing half of it in a heartbeat.

“You guys come in here often?” Alex asked. He was still having trouble remembering all of the regulars. 

“They’re bike messengers,” John said. “Racing, in your spare time, right?”

Sweaty Abs nodded as Biceps muttered something about her two minute twenty-two second time around her straw.

“They’re around whenever their route swings this way,” John continued, and pointed at Biceps. “Sybil Ludington, we call her Syb. And--” he pointed at Sweaty Abs “--Paul Revere. He doesn’t get a cool nickname. We just call him Paul.”

“Two fastest bikers in the state.” Syb put her drink down long enough to point both thumbs at herself. “And I’m the fastest out of the two of us.”

Paul nudged her shoulder with his elbow good-naturedly, and then looked over at Alex. “Uh, dude, this drink kind of sucks.”

John laughed. “Sorry, man, Lafayette’s not in today and none of the rest of us know how to make that shit. It’s on the house.” He pointed at Syb. “Not yours, because I know it’s fucking delicious. Five fifty.”

Syb reached into a small zippered pocket on the side of her bike shorts, taking out a ten and handing it to John, still engrossed in her drink. John laid the bill on the counter to dry a little, handing her the paper change back and throwing the fifty cents into their tip jar. Paul waved and Syb saluted a goodbye, and the two of them left the store, unchaining their bikes from the rack right outside the door. 

The next group was a bunch of no-frills businessmen from the offices across the street, asking for either hot or iced coffee, which Alex was a pro at making. He breezed through six or seven of their orders while John swapped stories with Mrs. Ross and Herc hefted big barrels of tea on and off of the wall. 

“Ay, there he is,” Herc yelled over his shoulder a few minutes later as Lafayette emerged from the kitchen, hair hanging over his face like a fluffy overcast cloud, eyelids at half-mast. “How you doin’, bud?”

Lafayette muttered something in French that Alex didn’t quite catch, but it made John stifle a laugh, so it was probably not worth repeating anyway, and slumped next to Mrs. Ross at the bar. She ran a hand up and down his back as she took sips of her tea.

“Don’t tell me you’re sick, Gilbert, especially not while you and I are breathing the same air.”

“It’s just allergies,” John said, sliding a cup of black coffee towards Lafayette. “He’s allergic to, uh, loud noises. Loud noises and sunlight.”

“Ah.” Mrs. Ross gave Lafayette a pointed look. “I get those sometimes, too.”

His phone buzzed and he pushed it across the bar to Alex. “Read that for me, please, _ami_. The screen’s too bright and it’s as low as I can get it.”

Alex picked up the phone and entered Adrienne’s birthday to unlock the text from Washington.

**Commander**

GW: how s everything @ the shop?

GW: hello

GW: hello

GW: u have me worried. ill be down soon

GdM: Don’t worry sir, everything is fine, I was just… asleep

GW: are you ok????

GdM: Yes I’ll be fine, everything is fine

GW: dont lie to me. take the rst of the day off

GW: tell every1 ill be in soon

He slid the phone back across the counter.

“Washington says you should take the rest of the day off, and he’ll be in soon to help us out.”

“No, ‘m not _leaving_ ,” Lafayette argued, head still pillowed in his arms, until Herc physically lifted him off of the stool. He swung one of Lafayette’s arms around his neck, ignoring as he muttered complaints in French, and made for the door.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, nudging the front door open with his foot, “you guys got this?”

“Yeah, yeah,” John said, waving him away. The bells jangled as they left the shop, officially leaving Alex and John in charge of the counter, the register, the drinks, Mrs. Ross, and Burr, who was still there even though Alex had almost forgotten about him. He was sitting in the far corner next to the window, still reading the paper, although his Americano was nowhere to be found.

“Hey, Burr,” John called across the space of empty seating. “Get over here, I’ll make you a new drink because of my… Uh… Whatever this morning.”

“Incompetence?” Burr asked, sitting in Lafayette’s vacant seat next to Mrs. Ross. John plunked an Americano in front of him, spraying him with small drops of coffee. 

“No, you dick, I’m perfectly competent all the time. For that, it’s four seventy-five. Pay the fuck up.”

Burr rolled his eyes but reached into his pocket anyway, until Mrs. Ross threw a few bills onto the counter. Burr pushed them back. She pushed them forward.

“No, Mrs. Ross, we _always_ do this--”

John snatched the money in an act of finality and Mrs. Ross headed for the door.

“I worry about you, Aaron,” she said over her shoulder. “Let someone take care of you every once in a while.” John threw her quarter change into the tip jar and yelled a goodbye as she left, the bells on the door jangling in her wake, Libertea officially empty of customers, save for Burr.

“I wish she wouldn’t do that,” he muttered, taking a sip of his drink. “This is much better, by the way.”

“I know,” John said, “and damn, she doesn’t pay for _my_ drinks. Count your lucky stars, Burr.”

“I can fend for myself, Laurens. I work at a law firm. I don’t need Mrs. Ross buying my coffee for me.” He took another drink. “This really is excellent. Better than usual.”

“I made it with love instead of hate like I usually do,” John quipped, twirling a wet rag around a few times and smacking Alex with the tail end. He threw a salute to the door as the bells rang again. “Hey, Mr. Washington, good morning sir!”

“Mr. Laurens,” Washington said, nodding as he came around the side of the bar. “Mr. Hamilton. I see you’re keeping a tight ship.” His eyes swept over the shop, which looked as tidy and well-kept as it ever did, barring Herc’s tea canisters still scattered around the big table. He skipped Burr (deep into his Americano) altogether. “Mr. Mulligan took the marquis home?”

“Yep,” John said, wiping down the already immaculate counter. “I guess we can just deal with the fact we won’t be selling muffins today. Some people complained about it, but I mean. People complain about everything.”

“It’s fine.” Washington pushed open the kitchen door, and looked back over his shoulder. “But, for future reference, please don’t get blackout drunk on a work night.”

“But--” John started.

“I’ve had my fair share of hangovers, Mr. Laurens, don’t try and fool me.” 

John nodded, throwing the rag to Alex. “Yes, sir.”

Washington turned to go upstairs, and as the door swung on its hinges behind him, Alex swore he heard a chuckle. John leapt up to sit on the counter, Burr moving his drink over to accommodate him. 

“We have the best fucking job on the planet.”

Alex made a soft noise of agreement, taking the half-stale cookies out of the pastry case so he could start cleaning it. John grabbed a cookie and handed one to Burr, who broke the edges off and started taking small bites of the still-soft center piece. Alex shoved half of one into his mouth as he knelt on the floor, partially inside the pastry case, swiping at stubborn caked-on icing spots with his rag.

The rest of the day passed in relative inactivity; Alex cleaned the pastry case, the cup cabinets, all of the napkin dispensers, and both of the mini-fridges, needing something to occupy his hands at all times or else he risked going insane. John pulled a sketchbook out of his bag and went to work, pencil flying in assured strokes as he captured something that soon turned out to be Burr, who had pulled out his phone and was texting contentedly at the end of the bar.

Herc came back around one in the afternoon, bearing two boxes of pizza, one cheese and one pepper, pineapple, and ham, which he and John promptly attacked. Alex ate two slices of the cheese, and Burr finagled a piece, too, as well as another Americano, which he paid for himself. Herc grabbed a rag and went to the wall of tea canisters, picking them up one by one and wiping them down until they shone.

John signed his drawing of Burr and immediately flipped the page and started a new one, leaning over the notebook like he was trying to hide it. Alex caught a glimpse of dark, expressive eyes, eyes that stared back at him every time he looked in the mirror. John was drawing _him_.

Something about this made him very warm. 

Not in the fuzzy, touchy-feely way, either, like physically _warm_. He stripped off his jacket, re-tying his apron and raking his hair into a messy bun, all the while taking covert glances at John. There was no doubt that the drawing was him; the hair was long and fell into his eyes the way it did when he wasn’t paying attention to it, his eyes were questioning and full of fire, the shading on his upper lip even looked like how it did when he woke up in the morning and forgot to shave. It was incredible, and John was flicking his pencil over the paper so casually, like it was nothing. Like capturing someone’s perfect likeness wasn’t a big deal.

Alex knew he’d never finish if he said even a single word about it, so he kept his mouth shut and picked up another cookie.

They had a few customers over the next few hours, but never enough that Alex coudn’t handle them by himself. He made mostly plain coffee, with the customers adding their own cream and sugar from the containers on the bar. John continued sketching, only pausing for a very rowdy half an hour when the three of them, John, Herc, and Alex, played a game of horse with wadded-up napkins and the trashcan. Herc won, Alex got second, and a very mopey John came in third. Burr was the reluctant referee, until he left, supposedly for work.

It was right after he’d received a text that made him grin from ear to ear, so Alex was pretty sure he hadn’t left for work. 

The three of them settled into their boring work day routine, John drawing (this time it was the tree right outside of Libertea, they got a pretty good view of it through the window), Herc stitching away at the design on his apron, and Alex alternating between reading one of his textbooks and making notes on his yellow legal pad. They alternated when customers came in, and it just so happened to be Alex’s turn when the bells jangled and a tall Japanese girl stepped in, intimidating and clearly on a mission.

“I need two of the biggest cups of coffee you can make me,” she said, sliding her Visa across the counter. “Starbucks has rat crap and I’m not taking a chance.”

“So I’ve heard,” he said, ringing her up and swiping her card. She ran her hands through her short black bob and wiped a finger under her eye, clearing away a speck of makeup that had stepped out of line. “In a rush?”

“A little,” she said, disproving her point by taking a seat at the bar while he started her drinks. He held up the biggest cups they offered and she nodded approval.

“One sugar in one, milk, two sugars, and one shot of caramel in the other,” she instructed. Alex picked up his marker.

“Who likes it sweet?” he asked. She raised two fingers.

“That one’s mine, Abigail Smith. Just write Abbie. A-B-B-I-E. You got it.”

“And who’s the boring one for?”

“It’s for my boyf-- ah, well, _friend_. Don’t want to count my chickens before they’re hatched or whatever. His name’s John, John Adams.” 

“We have a John, too,” Alex said, jerking his thumb behind his back at his John, who’d stolen Lafayette’s headphones again and was currently listening to Little Mix and doodling one of many turtles. “Laurens. And I’m Alex Hamilton, hope to see you around. If you like the coffee, that is.”

Abbie shook his outstretched hand and took a sip. She shrugged one shoulder.

“Good enough for me. Seeya ‘round, Alex Hamilton.”

“Good luck with your boy maybe friend,” he called after her.

She threw him a salute with John Adams’ drink and hip-checked her way out of the shop. Herc took the next customer, a man with a skinny scarf wrapped around his neck and an attitude, and Alex went back to his textbook. 

The rest of the afternoon passed by slowly as the three of them alternated customers and shared the work. Herc brewed some tea and made John and Alex try it; John claimed it tasted like twigs, but Alex liked it. It tasted like cinnamon and chocolate. He finished John’s cup while Herc wasn’t looking.

Washington came downstairs around five thirty, a half hour before the store was scheduled to close. John was wiping down the counter and Herc was cleaning off the tables, sweeping the crumbs into his hand and flinging them towards the trashcan. There was no doubt in Alex’s mind that they’d need to sweep before locking up.

“Mr. Hamilton,” Washington said, and Alex’s head shot up from where he was rearranging the stock of milk in the mini fridge for the eighth time that day. “Can I see you in my office?”

“Someone’s in trooouuuuble,” John sang out as Washington turned to go back upstairs. Alex threw a pen at him and followed his boss, nervousness making itself known in the pit of his stomach. He climbed the stairs apprehensively, torn between wanting to believe Washington had something good to tell him and the fact that it probably wasn’t good news.

_He wouldn’t tell me if the shop was closing, would he?_ Alex thought as his foot hit the top step. _He’d talk to Laf first, or Herc, and he’d definitely tell John before me, so that can’t be what this is about. Right?_

Even so, that was the prominent thought in his mind as he entered Washington’s office. There was a new picture on the wall, a black and white one of his wife, the woman John had called Martha. She was smiling up at the camera, her white teeth dazzlingly brilliant, her dark hair coiled at the nape of her neck in a low bun, small diamonds glinting at her earlobes.

“She’s beautiful,” Alex commented as he sat in front of the desk. “Your wife, I mean.”

The side of Washington’s mouth quirked upward in the beginning of a smile. “Yes, she is. Our ninth anniversary is nine months away, to the date.”

Alex did the math quickly. “You were married on the Fourth of July?

Washington actually did smile at that. “What can I say, free fireworks.”

Alex grinned, too, and then remembered where he was sitting and sobered up. “Listen, sir, I don’t know if you’re thinking about closing, but--”

“Closing?” Washington raised both eyebrows. “No, nothing like that. The opposite, actually, because Alexander, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said the other day. I had a meeting with Gilbert before the, ah, allergy attack he had last night, and he agreed with me. Pressed me into it a little bit, if I’m being honest with you.”

Alex had leaned forward subconsciously at the use of his first name, and even more so at the use of Lafayette’s. _C’mon George, what are you getting at…_

“I believe I’m under-utilizing your talents. If you accept, effective Monday, you’ll be put in charge of a small part of Libertea, the books, the register. I need you to clean it up, make it presentable, fix what Lee let go to ruin. Be my right hand man, on the financial side of things. Do you think you can--”

“Yes,” Alex interrupted, “I mean, yes, sir, Mr. Washington, of course!”

Washington smiled again, the second full smile since Alex had stepped into the office. “There will be a small raise, of course, as well as new responsibilities and raises for John and Hercules as well. I’m promoting Gilbert to Lee’s old position--”

“Finally,” Alex said under his breath. Washington paused but didn’t acknowledge it.

“And I’m calling a meeting tomorrow morning at ten thirty,” he concluded. “I know it’s your day off, but I think it best for the five of us to reconvene and--”

“We’ll be there!”

“You’ve interrupted me three times so far, son.”

“Ah, um, sorry, I’m just--”

“Excited, I know.” Washington ran a hand over his head. “I figured this place needed a little shakeup after Lee, and especially with all of this King business. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Of course,” Alex said quickly. “We don’t want to see this place closed either, sir.”

“I know.” Washington said, standing up and motioning for Alex to leave the office in front of him. They went down the stairs and through the kitchen together, Alex pushing Lafayette’s bowl of half-mixed scone batter into the sink and running some water over it.

The cleanup was nearly done, John had turned off all the lights except for the round lanterns illuminating the chalkboard menus and Herc had stacked all of the chairs.

“Just waiting for you two, Commander,” Herc said, flicking through his keyring to find the blue LIbertea key. John went out first, and then Washington, and Herc beckoned to Alex.

“Come on, Ham, I have a frozen lasagna to put in the oven, and a piece may or may not have your name on it if you _hurry up_.”

“You guys go ahead,” Alex said, picking up his messenger bag and sliding his scattered textbook and notebooks into the innermost pocket. “I can lock up after myself, I’ll just be a minute.”

“Suit yourself.” Herc closed the door after him, and Alex heard the faint ringing of bells as the door fit back into its frame. He jumped up to sit on the counter, facing inwards towards the kitchen and the softly lit menus. John rewrote them every time they changed a drink or a food variety, the soft curlicues of his cursive headers in harsh contrast to the capital letters underneath, spelling out the complexities of the menu item.

_Blueberry Scone: HANDMADE EVERY MORNING, FARM-FRESH BLUEBERRIES AND A NOTE OF VANILLA._

The special board had a doodle of a coffee cup with a palm tree stirrer, with the caption “Livin’ La Vida Mocha”. Herc had groaned for an entire minute after John had drawn it.

And underneath that was John’s bag, and in John’s bag was John’s sketchbook.

Alex knew he shouldn’t, but Alex was never very good at doing the things he should.

The sketchbook was heavy in his hands, full of Post-It notes and scraps of notebook paper. Every sketch was dated, the first one in that particular book was from a few weeks before Alex had started at Libertea and was a rough draft of the French and American flag mural on Lafayette’s ceiling. He’d scribbled “ _Do while Laf’s away for the weekend, bday surprise_ ” in the corner.

The sketchbook was full of personality, of life, of _John_ , and Alex couldn’t tear his eyes away. There were too many turtles (at least one every few pages), and a lot of Georges; no matter how much John claimed to hate him, the cat knew how to pose for a sketch. A couple of Burr, lost in thought as he sat at Libertea’s bar, which Alex now knew was a classic place for Burr to get lost in thought. A few of Lafayette pulling various faces, a few body studies of shirtless Herc. One particularly detailed one of Washington, the pencil strokes changing ever so slightly in each part of the drawing that Alex knew it hadn’t been done in one sitting.

And then he flipped to a drawing dated two weeks prior; the first drawing in the book of him.

He remembered that day, remembered that outfit, the baggy sweatshirt he’d worn while chasing Burr around campus. John had drawn him then, on the first day they’d met, laughing at something--

_“Okay, fine,”_ John had sighed, even though Alex hadn’t known his name was John just then, _“Burr, toi bon marche putain--”_

And he’d laughed, and John had saved that moment in his mind, vividly enough to draw it from memory hours after it had happened. Him, hands shoved into his sweatshirt pockets, mouth wide open, laugh wrinkles around his closed eyes. It was better than any photo ever taken.

“John fucking Laurens,” he said under his breath, trailing one light finger across the drawing, wanting to touch it but scared of smudging any of the thousands of pencil strokes. He wanted to rip it out and keep it, wanted it where he could glance at it whenever he wanted to --the signature at the bottom was a scribbled _J. Laurens_ , what he wouldn’t give to have that framed somewhere in his room-- but he couldn’t. He was invading John’s privacy enough as it were.

He slid the sketchbook back into John’s backpack as the door opened, bells jangling wildly.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” he said, slinging the backpack over the same shoulder that his messenger bag hung from, and turned. John grinned at him from the door.

“I think I know that. C’mon, Alex, let’s go already.”

“You forgot your bag.” Alex threw the backpack and John caught it by one strap, slinging an arm over Alex’s shoulder as they left the shop and locked it behind them. 

“So, Herc’s making a lasagna…”

“And we all got raises!” John clapped him on the back, pulling him even closer as they walked side-by-side down the darkening New York street, Alex’s mind full to bursting with promotions and coffee cup doodles and the way John’s drawing had somehow captured his nose just right. “It’s a good day, Alex. It's a good fucking day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: It's Sunday, which usually means sleeping in for our heroes, but not when Washington calls a big Libertea meeting (which John will definitely attend in pajamas).
> 
> Headcanon casting: Angela Bassett as Mrs. Ross, Armie Hammer as Paul Revere, Tayonah Parris as Sybil Ludington, Rinko Kikuchi as Abbie Smith, and Kerry Washington as Martha Washington. Let me know what you think of me sprinkling in some new faces!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	10. You Need All The Help You Can Get

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast, meeting, texing. A typical (or not so typical) Sunday for the Libertea boys.

Alex woke up the next morning to a desolate, quiet apartment. The fact that it was six thirty in the morning was probably why no one was awake, and after trying for another fifteen minutes to get back to sleep, Alex called it quits and got out of bed.

Even after he showered quickly and threw on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt he thought was the cleanest of the bunch, no one was awake. He rifled through the fridge, grabbing a carton of eggs marked LAFAYETTE, a block of cheese marked H.MULL, the half-gallon of milk he’d grabbed the previous night at the bodega, and a baggie of scallions John had chopped up and never used. Laying his supplies, as well as the salt and pepper shakers and a little container full of red pepper flakes, he set to work making omelets. 

The first one was nearly finished cooking (and a pot of coffee was brewing by the stove) when Herc slid into one of the tall bar chairs. He was freshly showered, too, and had on a sweatshirt that was a little tight around his chest (and left about an inch of skin between the bottom hem and the top of his sweatpants). When he turned to grab a cup from the cabinet, Alex saw why; on the back, block letters spelled out _J. LAURENS_.

“You’re wearing John’s sweatshirt,” he said by way of greeting. John had never lent him a sweatshirt. Not like he _wanted_ that or anything, it just looked really warm.

“He left it in the dryer,” Herc said, coming around Alex to fill the kettle, and slid it onto back burner. “ _Again_. This is revenge. I’m stretching out the neck hole and it’s his own damn fault.”

“Oh, so he didn’t let you borrow it?”

“No,” Herc replied, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. Alex shoved a plate full of omelet at him to change the subject. 

It worked. Herc inhaled deeply and grabbed the salt. “Thanks, man, this looks awesome.”

Alex started on omelet number two as Lafayette slouched into the kitchen, depositing himself in a chair next to Herc. He yawned, showing all of his teeth, and Alex realized that Georges was sitting on his shoulder. He could only see the cat’s tiny paws, the rest of him was obscured by Lafayette’s untied hair.

He quickly finished the omelet, dodging Herc as he made his cup of tea, and slid the second plate in front of Lafayette, who gave a tired _thank you_ nod and dug in. Alex poured himself a cup of coffee, added more sugar than necessary and a splash of the milk Herc had taken out of the fridge, and waited for John.

He didn’t have to wait long, the breakfast smell filling the apartment was more effective than an alarm clock. John’s door slammed open.

“Where’s my sweatshirt, Mulligan?” he yelled from down the hall. Herc took another bite of omelet.

“Not my fault you left it in the dryer, Laurens!”

John stormed into the kitchen, didn’t acknowledge Alex, Lafayette, or Alex’s omelets, and headed straight for Herc. who dodged around the island. John was in baggy blue sweatpants and nothing else, and Alex let himself admire his bare, freckled chest for a total of three whole seconds before turning back to the stove. 

He swung around again after another three seconds because he was curious. John, somehow, had gotten the sweatshirt half off of Herc, wrapped around his shoulders and most of his face. 

“Get-- Off-- Me--” Herc managed to grunt as John tugged on the sweatshirt.

“Get off my damn sweatshirt!” 

“You-- Left-- It--” Herc said as John gave one last pull, freeing him and sending him stumbling backwards into the side of the island. “Don’t leave your _shit_ around, Laurens!”

“You love my shit,” John replied, wiggling the sweatshirt over his head. “And thanks, the neck hole’s the exact size I wanted it to be.”

Herc rolled his eyes and plunked back down into his chair as Alex flipped the third omelet in the pan. John fixated on it.

“Hey, yo, Ham, that omelet for me?”

“Yep,” Alex replied, lifting the pan and maneuvering the omelet onto a plate and sliding that plate across the island right in front of John. “Remember when I said I’d pull my weight around here somehow? Here you go. Sunday morning breakfast.”

“I picked a good one, right guys?” John’s mouth was immediately full of omelet. “He can _cook_.”

“I can cook,” Lafayette said.

Herc took another bite. “ _I_ can cook.”

“Really,” Lafayette continued as a small squeak came from his hair (presumably from Georges), “the only one who can’t is you, _petit ami_.”

“Okay, okay.” John folded the omelet in half and stuck the entire thing in his mouth, speaking around it somehow. “Fuck y’all.”

“All right, South Carolina.” Herc took his plate, ran it under hot water for a second, and slipped it and his fork in the dishwasher. “We have our meeting with G. Wash in a half hour, so--”

“Did you just call him _G. Wash_?” Alex asked, starting, finally, on an omelet for himself. 

“Move past it, move past it,” Herc continued, “We’ll leave here in fifteen minutes. Now if you feel like I’m treating you like preschoolers--” John made a noise “--it’s because I am. Fifteen minutes. Aaaaaaand, break!”

He headed off to the bathroom, Lafayette also rinsed his plate and took Georges back into his room, and Alex slid into the unoccupied seat next to John, who had grabbed a box of Cap’n Crunch and was eating it by the handful. Alex grabbed one as well, and alternated between bites of warm omelet and the cereal. 

“But for real, thanks for breakfast,” John said, taking another handful. “It was good. Like, fucking good.”

“Thanks, John.”

“I mean it!” He deposited a handful of cereal onto the napkin next to Alex’ plate. “You’re good at being all domestic and shit. You know, when you’re not out drinking with the cool kids in the wee hours of the morning.” He gave Alex an overdramatically disappointed look.

“That was with _you_.”

He grinned. “I know.”

The two of them munched in silence for a while, Alex imminently aware of how close John’s leg was to his, and how their elbows almost brushed when they both took a bite at the same time. He moved even closer.

“Five minutes!” Herc bellowed from the bathroom. Alex took another bite, not ready to leave his and John’s breakfast sanctuary. John dropped another handful of cereal next to Alex.

“Don’t get up yet,” he said. “Herc can wait.”

•

 

They were all congregated around Libertea’s big table. Herc was still in sweatpants, with an old college t-shirt underneath a vibrantly patterned, floor-brushing robe. He’d told Alex that he sewed it himself and that it was never fully finished; he liked to practice different embroidery styles on it. He was currently sitting at the far end of the table, feet up on another chair, stitching a koi fish in orange thread on the robe’s bottom hem.

Lafayette was wearing a Nike hoodie and jeans, and was video chatting with Adrienne. He’d let Alex say hi, she was in the middle of a modeling job but had hidden away in a bathroom stall, hair in curlers and makeup half done. It was four in the afternoon over in France, and Alex appreciated the chance to stretch his language abilities. He’d talked to her for a few minutes, told her the story of how he got to know Lafayette and the rest of them (John snickered through the whole story and Herc said _what did he say_ a lot).

John was still in his sweatpants and hoodie. He made drinks for the three of them (Herc brought his own tea from the apartment), and Washington’s coffee was sitting on the counter, two stars scribbled on the side. He was sitting next to Alex, left arm slung around the back of Alex’s chair as he played a lazy game of _1010!_ on his phone with his right. 

And Alex hadn’t changed out of his original jeans and a t-shirt, just threw on his ratty black Converse and a dark green zip-up overtop. He alternated taking sips out of his drink (John had doodled a spectacular rendition of Cap’n Crunch on the side, moustache and everything), and making a move for John on _1010!_ when he got stuck. Eventually it got to the point where they were sitting hunched over the table, phone flat between them, alternating moves. 

John’s leg was pressed against Alex’s, and he was close enough that their shoulders brushed any time either of them moved. Alex could feel John’s breath on his hand, he could smell his shampoo, and if he glanced over even slightly, he could see every individual freckle scattered across his face. 

It was hot in Libertea, he thought, maybe someone had turned up the temperature. He wanted to take off his jacket, but didn’t want to disturb the closeness he’d created with John. 

The atmosphere (Herc calmly stitching away, Lafayette’s soft muttered French, he and John’s brief seconds of contact) was shattered when Washington stormed through the door. He tossed his bag onto the counter and grabbed his coffee in one fluid motion, and went to stand at the head of the table.

“Thank you for giving me part of your Sunday morning,” he began after taking a deep drink of coffee, “and I apologize for running a little late. Martha and I--” 

He paused. Took another drink.

“Anyway, I asked you all here today to lay out the plan.” He set his coffee down and pulled up a chair, steepling his fingers like Alex knew he did whenever he was deep in thought. “The general idea is for us to buy out our current landlord, New York Congressional, to avoid having to sign a lease with George King.”

“Scumbag,” Herc muttered from his spot at the other end of the table.

“To do that,” Washington continued, ignoring Herc (but also hiding a smile), “we need a loan from the bank. I recently promoted Alex--” John nudged Alex’s leg with his foot “--and he’s going to clean up and organize our books. Another thing the bank will look for, besides whether or not we’re a thriving business, is proof of good character. That is, they want to know if we’re beneficial to the community.”

“We’re beneficial as _fuck_ ,” John piped up. Washington shot him a look.

“King can’t ruin our financial standing,” Washington continued, “we already have that on paper. What he can do is slander our name, which I believe he’s trying to do already.”

“What?” Herc and Alex said at the same time. John stood, slamming his fists on the table.

“I’ll _kill_ him, that son of a bitch--”

“Not if I get there first,” Lafayette said, standing up too. “Commander, as soon as you say the word, I’ll go down there and--”

“That’s enough,” Washington said. “Marquis, Mr. Laurens, please have a seat.”

They both sank back into their chairs, John still muttering. Alex, in what was either an idiotic move or the smartest thing he’d ever done, ran a hand up and down John’s back. He visibly relaxed, and even scooted his chair closer to Alex’s. 

“Mr. Hamilton,” Washington said, “I’d like to hear anything you have to contribute.”

He paused. Thought about it. Tried not to think about how close John was.

“What if we got testimonies?” he asked. “Like, people who come here a lot, our regulars. We could even get some influential people--”

“Like who?” Washington asked, genuine interest spiking his voice.

“Like, uh,” Alex replied, brain whirring, too involved in his thoughts to point out that this time, Washington had interrupted _him_. “I can get Mr. Schuyler, he knows you, he likes this place!”

“He’s one of the best-known names in this entire city,” Washington said, nodding assent. “If you talk to him and get it on record, with his permission, I think that would help our cause a lot.”

“I can get Mrs. Ross,” John piped up. “I know she’s not, like, rich or anything, but she’s in here all the time. Everyone around here knows her, her business has been around for ages.” Washington pointed at him.

“Good, Mr. Laurens. Anyone else we could get?”

Lafayette sat up straighter, snapping his fingers like he just had an idea. “What about Franklin?”

“Ben?” Washington asked. “Good luck, I haven’t seen him in ages. Last thing I heard, he was causing trouble in France.”

“But would his testimony help?”

“His word is gold,” Washington replied. “He’s one of the most influential people I have ever met. If he endorsed this place…”

“I’ll get him,” Lafayette said.

“Hey, speaking of people you haven’t seen in ages,” Herc said, “what about that dude? From your military days way back when?”

“I’m not that old, Hercules,” Washington said, smiling a little, and as an aside to Alex, he continued. “I joined the army right out of college. Served for five years until I was discharged.”

“Shot twice,” John whispered to Alex. “Two purple hearts.”

“And I think you’re thinking of Friedrich, Mr. Mulligan, and if you are, I can assure you that he’s nowhere near this area. If he were, though, that would be helpful as well. Friedrich can be, well… Intimidating.”

“Are you kidding?” Herc asked. “The Steub is scary as hell. I’ll get him to endorse this place.”

Washington gave a full-blown grin at that, and Alex couldn’t help but grin as well. 

“That’s the plan, then, gentlemen. Your new positions also go into effect on Monday, as do your raises.” John whooped a little at that, one fist in the air. “I really do appreciate all of you, and couldn’t ask for a better team to try and save this place.”

Washington rapped his knuckles twice on the tabletop and took another sip of his drink. “Thank you again, Mr. Laurens, for the excellent coffee, and I’ll see all of you tomorrow.”

Herc and Alex saluted and Washington threw back a salute of his own, coffee cup to forehead, and headed out the door as the bells jangled. Lafayette left right after, earbuds in and phone out. The last thing Alex heard him say to Adrienne was something about a new scone recipe he was about to try and create.

“Well if Laf’s baking scones I want to be there for taste testing,” Herc said, before wrapping up his needle and thread and doing a dramatic, robe-flipping sweep out of the front door after him, leaving Alex and John alone in the shop.

They spent the next fifteen minutes playing the game on John’s phone, cheering whenever the other made a particularly good move, sitting just as close as they had been during Washington’s meeting. Alex honestly could have stayed there all day as the only two in the shop, quiet except for John’s loud bursts of laughter whenever Alex muttered something angry at the game, but it had to end eventually.

“Alex, man, I need to fucking shower.” John locked the phone and slipped it into his pocket. “But we were on a roll, so we’re going to have to continue. Maybe at dinner? Or, y’know, at work tomorrow instead of working.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Alex replied as they left Libertea and John locked up behind them. “I need to text Eliza anyway, see if we can meet up.”

“Meet up?” John asked. “Is this Alex Hamilton, asking an actual woman out?”

“Not like _that_ , John. If I’m going to talk to her dad I want to go through a third party first. Her dad’s intimidating as shit.”

“It’s a date, isn’t it?”

“No!” Alex pulled out his phone and flipped it open and closed just to give his hands something to do. “I mean, at least I don’t want it to be like that. She’s a nice person, John, I just want to be friends.”

“Sure you do. Think she’s pretty?”

“Uh, I guess so. Do you think so?”

“Sure she is.” John shrugged as they turned a corner. “I’m gay as fuck and even I can tell she’s pretty.”

“You never told me you were gay.” Alex turned the phone over and over in his hands, hoping he was masking the fact that he was freaking out a little. He’d hoped John’s sexual orientation would align with his, but he’d never asked. He didn’t want to compromise his budding friendship with prying, possibly revealing, questions.

“Of course I’m gay. Remember my dad?” John asked. “How we _have our differences_? One of those differences is that I like men. A lot. Henry Laurens, mayor of Charleston, South Carolina, did _not_ want a gay son.”

“That sucks, John, I’m really sorry.” The silence dragged as they walked, hanging heavy in the air. Alex needed to say something, he needed to open his mouth. “I thought I was straight until last year.”

John’s head whipped around to face him. “What happened last year?”

“My chemistry class was full of cute guys.” Alex said, and John laughed.

“ _Chemistry_ , huh?”

Alex laughed, too, grateful that the air was clear. “I had to work extra hard to make sure I got a passing grade. I was… Well, distracted most of the time in class.”

John bumped him. “Go on any dates?”

“A few.”

“Nothing stuck?”

“There was a girl named Grace, I dated her for like a month and a half before she switched colleges. Simon was a guy from that chemistry class, we went on a few dates but he was a douche.”

“I’m trying to figure out your type,” John said. “Bi, no douches.”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“That’s what she, uh, he, well, _both_ of them said.”

“Shut up, Laurens.”

“Make me, Hamilton.”

Alex noticed for the first time that they weren’t walking anymore, but were standing, stock-still, on the side of the road, staring at each other. A few curls were hanging in John’s eyes, but he made no move to brush them away.

“We should get home,” Alex said.

“You need to text Schuyler.”

“You need to take a shower.”

Neither of them moved. John’s brown eyes had flecks of gold in them, his eyes were ringed by tiny little laugh wrinkles, there was a freckle at the very corner of his left eye. The sun was positioned directly behind him, shining between two buildings and making his curly head look like it was wreathed in fire.

“Here, Alex, wait--” John cupped his cheek with one hand, using a thumb to brush the skin under his eye. “You had an eyelash.”

He blew the lash off of his thumb and jerked his head towards their apartment building.

“Let’s go. You have a text to send if you want to save both our jobs.”

“Yeah,” Alex replied as John led the way. The swipe of John’s thumb had left a searing mark, and he could feel it burning as he followed him through the door and into the elevator. Even as they rode to their floor in silence, John tapping away on his phone and Alex staring at the brightly lit elevator buttons, he could feel it burning.

They parted ways as soon as they stepped into the apartment. John headed straight for the bathroom, and Alex ducked into his room to grab his phone charger and a book before making himself comfortable on the living room couch closest to a plug. He selected Eliza’s name from his list of contacts and stared at his phone for a while, trying to think of what he wanted to say.

In the distance, the shower started running.

_Hey, Eliza! I was wondering--_ he started typing, and then stopped. No exclamation point, too eager. _Hey, Eliza, I was wondering--_

Should he use proper punctuation or did it make him look like a tool?

_hey eliza i was wondering--_

No, Eliza Schuyler seemed to be the kind of girl who would appreciate the right use of a comma. He deleted the entire text and started over.

_Ms. Schuyler--_

_‘liza--_

_E dot Schuy--_

Finally, he said _screw it_ and switched his brain to autopilot.

_Hey, Eliza. Sorry I didn’t text the other day, I fell asleep, which is a tired excuse I guess, haha. Anyway, I was actually wondering if we could meet up later. There’s something you can do to help me try and save the shop, if you’re interested._

Send. And wait.

While he waited he read, and while he read, he listened to the sounds of the shower running, shampoo bottles dropping, and eventually, John singing.

It started with a few smothered phrases that Alex barely caught, but as the minutes passed, he got louder, unabashedly American Idol-ing his way through a top 40 song Alex didn’t know, the Beyoncé song he’d sung in the elevator a few days ago, before starting another song.

“When Rome’s in ruins we are the lions,” John sang, muffled by a few walls and the sound of running water, “free of the coliseums…” 

Alex subconsciously shifted on the couch to be closer to the bathroom door. He’d listened to the _Save Rock And Roll_ album on repeat when it had been released right after he left Nevis for New York. It was comforting, it felt like coming home.

“Americana,” John sang, “exotica, do you want to feel a little beautiful, baby, oh!”

Alex’s phone buzzed. It was Herc, replying to a meme Alex had texted him back during Washington’s meeting. He kept waiting for Eliza’s reply.

“C’mon, make it easy, say I never mattered,” John continued, punctuated by a falling shampoo bottle. “Run it up the flagpole… We will teach you how to make boys next door out of assholes…” Even from where he was in the living room, Alex could still hear John’s laugh.

His phone buzzed again. It was Eliza.

_I’d love to help any way I can! I hate to suggest this, but should we meet at Starbucks? Just because Libertea is closed on Sundays. We can go to the one on 75th if you want. No rat poop rumors there!_

He had to grin at the smiling poop emoji accompanying the text, and he was quietly relieved he’d chosen to go with proper punctuation.

_That sounds great, although my roomies might kill me over the Starbucks thing. Meet you there at 2?_

The shower had stopped running, but John was still singing. “We are wild… We are like young volcanoes…”

A muted buzz. Eliza. _Two sounds great. See you there!_

“Americana, exotica…”

Alex’s fingers slowly typed out his response as he listened to John and thought about their earlier conversation. Friends. Eliza was his friend. But it was _Eliza_. Was he capable of that, of being just friends with someone like Eliza Schuyler?

_Well_ , he thought as he sent his _can’t wait_ reply, _I’ll find out soon._

And from the bathroom came John’s imperfect, but unabashed and lighthearted, voice.

“Do you want to feel a little beautiful, baby, oh!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Alex meets up with Eliza and Seabury shows his face at the shop again.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	11. Boy, You Got Me Helpless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza and Alex get pictured together, Seabury graces Libertea with his presence, John isn't thrilled.

Alex had gone to Starbucks at least three times a week ever since coming to New York, but this was his first time to the one (supposedly) close to the apartment Eliza shared with her sisters. It was also his first time to a Starbucks since Washington hired him, and he was sure that his roommates wouldn’t be happy if they heard where he was meeting her.

He took a sip of his mocha chip Frappuccino. Grimaced. _Not great_. 

Not compared to John’s version of the drink, anyway. This one didn’t have enough mocha, didn’t have mini chocolate chips swirled throughout, didn’t have a Laurens original doodled on the side. What it _did_ have was a name, scrawled on the side in the barista’s handwriting. _Andrew_.

He had a tiny moment of hesitation -- _did he really steal the drink of some dude named_ Andrew?-- until he remembered the barista had made his drink at the counter and handed it right back to him, name and everything. 

_How did he get Andrew out of Alexander?_ he wondered. _I mean, I do talk pretty fast, but still…_

“Why does your cup say _Andrew_?” Eliza asked as she slid into the chair opposite him, fresh-faced and beaming, a ray of sunshine in a denim jacket and lip gloss. “Oh, God, your real name’s Andrew, isn’t it? Peggy did this, somehow, convinced me your name was Alexander but in reality I’ve been embarrassing myself--”

“Eliza!” Alex interrupted, lifting the cup and pointing to himself. “Barista mess up. My name’s not Andrew.”

She grinned at that, slumping, relieved, in her chair. “Sorry. And sorry I’m late, it’s been a long day. Our landlord did apartment inspections today and our kitchen had like eighty health hazards that we had to fix before she showed up, perks of living with my sisters, who are human disasters.”

“ _No_.”

“Hey, looks can be deceiving.” She winked at him before slipping out of her seat, darting up to the counter to get her drink. It was a golden brown color, tea over ice, and she had the straw in her mouth before she even sat back down. “Okay, Alex, Andrew, whatever your name is--”

He had to hide a smile at that.

“--I have to ask, because Peggy’s always bothering me to be more upfront, and also because she made me eat three fruit roll-ups before coming here and I hardly ever eat sugar, so I think I’m a little bit hyper--”

He didn’t hide the smile anymore, she was almost as wide-eyed as John was after drinking coffee all morning at work.

“Is this a date?”

The smile disappeared faster than Lafayette’s cake pops on Friday mornings.

_Of course this isn’t a date,_ his brain said immediately. 

_Look how cute her eyes are,_ his heart replied.

_What about John?_ his brain asked. _His eyes are cute, right? His freckles are cute. What about him?_

_John doesn’t like me,_ his heart said, pouting, if hearts could pout.

_He draws you,_ his brain retaliated. 

His heart rolled its metaphorical eyes. _He draws everyone. If that’s your logic, he has a huge crush on Herc. He drew him_ shirtless. 

_He wanted to be next to you the other night._ Brain.

_He was drunk!_ Heart.

“Alex?” Eliza.

“Uh,” he said, reality rushing up to meet him. “No?”

She did it again, that thing where she sighed a big, relieved sigh and slumped in a tangle of black hair and jean jacket sleeves and pearl necklaces. But she seemed to realize, a little belatedly, how that must look to him, and straightened up, all business again.

“Nothing against you, Alex, I promise!” She twisted a hand into her long string of pearls. “I just, well, the past year’s been rough, relationship-wise, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to commit to anything.”

She swallowed. “I feel helpless sometimes, you know? Like I don’t know myself outside of who I am with someone. But I want to, I want to look in the mirror and know the person looking back, inside and out. And I wouldn’t mind getting to know you, too. I don’t have very many friends.”

She smiled at him then, all long lashes and blush cheeks. “You must think I’m the most presumptuous girl in the world.”

Alex shrugged one shoulder, amazed at how the day was unfolding. He’d told her, point-blank, that it wasn’t a date, and she was still here, smiling at him, wanting to be friends. He’d give his left hand to be friends with the wildfire that was Eliza Schuyler, and she was offering it to him on a silver platter.

“I don’t have a lot of friends, either,” he said, “I don’t have a dollar to my name. I got a couple of college credits my top-notch brain, and a job that takes up most of my social time. But if you want that, if that’s something you’re interested in…”

He smiled then, too, meeting hers with one of his own. “I’d love to be your friend, Eliza.”

She nudged his leg with her foot under the table and took another long drink of tea. “Deal. My sisters are going to be thrilled, they like you a lot.”

“Even Angelica?”

“Even Angelica.”

Even though he didn’t like it as much as John’s, Alex took a sip of his Frappuccino and gave Eliza a long look, her long fingers deftly picking a strand of hair out of her lip gloss, the slight smudge of mascara under her left eye, the two pearl earrings in each ear.

She cocked her head to the side just slightly. “What?”

“Eliza, for what it’s worth, around me I swear to God you’ll never feel helpless.”

She didn’t reply, but stood up and dragged her chair over to his side of the table, sitting flush by his side, almost like John had the other day during Washington’s meeting. She leaned closer to him, the denim of her jacket brushing his bare arm. 

“It’s a rough storm out there, Alex.”

He nodded agreement, his cheek brushing the top of her head, even though he disagreed. The soft curl of the hair right behind John’s ears, the way his eyebrows furrowed when he was drawing on the cups at Libertea, the way his laugh filled up an entire room by itself forced him to disagree on principle. 

“It’s not all bad,” he said softly. “Hurricanes happen, but you survive by finding a safe harbor.”

“What about you?” she asked, sitting up, settling back into her chair, “have you found your safe harbor yet, Alexander Hamilton?”

He paused.

“I’m not sure.”

She nudged him then, her shoulder on his bicep. “Enough of this. You asked me here for a reason, and it wasn’t me telling you my woes, and it wasn’t me prying in your love life. So what was it?”

He explained quickly, about Libertea’s predicament, about George King, about Washington and his plan to buy out the lease and save the shop. By the end she was nodding and looking pretty confident, and when he asked the question--

“So will your dad back us up?”

Her answer was--

“He will. I’ll make him.” 

“Whoa, there, Eliza Fireball Schuyler, no violence.”

She winked. “That’s more Angelica’s game, anyway.”

“Remind me to never make her mad.”

“Hey, if you do, that’s your funeral.”

They sat in silence for a while, drinking their respective drinks, Eliza tapping away on her phone. Alex couldn’t help but read over her shoulder.

**(three margarita emojis)**

PS: how’s ur date going??? (couple emoji)

PS: don’t ignore me, i kno ur on ur phone

PS: U JUST RETWEETED BEY, DON’T PLAY ME LIKE THIS

PS: we r no longer sisters (12 broken heart emojis)

ES: Peggy!! Shut up!! 

ES: One, it’s not a date, and two, it’s going well thank you.

PS: so ur not going 2 end up eliza schuy-ham???

PS: COUPLE NAME = SCHUYAM

PS: (a ton of explosion emojis)

ES: Bye!!!!!

She swiped to another screen.

♥ Ang ♥

AS: You’re ok?? I don’t have to send in the cavalry?

ES: I’m fine, Ang, don’t worry! Not a date

AS: Good. Be safe.

ES: Done and done ♥

“Sisters.” Eliza rolled her eyes and set her phone onto the table. “I’m right down the road and they check up on me. To be fair, Peggy only wanted gossip.”

“What’d you tell them?” Alex asked. “You better have told them you’re on the best date of your life.”

Eliza laughed, hitting his shoulder briefly with her cheek. “If all dates were like this, I think I’d be set. You’re very easy to hang out with, Alex Hamilton.”

“I try,” he said, just as his phone buzzed. He opened it, ignoring Eliza as she laughed harder.

“You have a flip phone? Alex, that’s cute, I’m not making fun of you, _promise_!”

“Join the ranks,” Alex replied, skimming the text from Herc, something about how Lafayette’s new scone recipe was the best thing he’d ever tried and if he hurried there might be one for him back at the apartment. “My roommates make fun of me all the time, I’m used to it.”

“Well,” Eliza said snatching the phone and turning it over in her hands, “it’s old, that’s for sure. Practically ancient history. It fits you.”

“You’re calling me ancient history? Low blow, Schuyler, low blow. I’d expect that from Peggy, not from _you_.”

“Peggy’s my younger sister, where’d you think she learned it from?”

“Angelica?”

Eliza paused. “Fair enough.”

Alex grabbed his phone back and shot off a text to Herc, how he’d be home in a little and if there weren’t any scones when he got back there’d be hell to pay. “I know it’s old, but it does all right. Barely gets picture mail, but sometimes they come through.”

Eliza slid her own sleek, rose-gold iPhone back into her hand, lifted it up, and in the same smooth moment, snapped a picture of herself. She tapped the screen a few times, and clicked a button to make the screen go black.

“Sent it to you,” she said by way of explanation. “Text me when you get it, I want to know how long your archaic phone takes to download pictures.”

She stood and slung her purse over her shoulder.

“And I’ll talk to my dad about Libertea,” she continued. “I bet he’ll say yes, he seemed impressed by you at dinner. What would you need from him, anyway? A written statement? Video?”

“I’m not sure,” Alex replied. _Video_. That could work. “I’ll let you know when you have his permission, is that okay?”

“Fine by me.” She blew a kiss and headed for the Starbucks’ entrance. “Thanks for the not-date, Mr. Hamilton. Do it again soon?”

“Anytime,” he called after her, and as soon as she was gone he pulled up the chair across from him to prop his feet up on. He hadn’t finished his Frappuccino, and he was going to savor the dirty looks the Starbucks employees were throwing at him for as long as he could. It was nice to be a coffeeshop patron instead of behind the counter for once.

His phone buzzed.

_Eliza’s selfie_ was the first thought to cross his mind. _Wow, that was fast. This phone usually takes forever to download pictures--_

He’d received a picture, that was for sure. A few of them, popping up one by one on his phone’s small screen. Grainy and slightly out of focus, but the subjects were unmistakable.

Him and Eliza. Sitting side by side, her leaning into him, him leaning into her. One of him with his cheek pressed to the top of her head. Laughing with each other, pressed side-by-side. They looked like a couple, they looked like they were in love. His cheeks were ruddy, her eyes sparkled even in the low quality phone snapshots.

His phone buzzed, the unknown number again. Another photo, Eliza, blowing him a kiss.

His face suddenly got very warm. Why was someone out there taking pictures of the two of them? Intimate pictures, romantic pictures. This wasn’t what their time together had been at all, this was twisting both his and Eliza’s intentions, this was unexplainable if someone got ahold of them.

_John._

Alex hurriedly deleted every message from the unknown number, erasing all evidence. No excuse he could give would hold up against those pictures. Before erasing the last one, he composed a text.

**(UNKNOWN NUMBER)**

AH: who are you?? what do you want?

AH: take all the pictures of me you want, just leave her out of it

He waited as he left Starbucks, waited as he walked back to the apartment, waited as he rode the elevator and turned the key in the lock and greeted his roommates and had one of Lafayette’s scones. He waited as he took a shower and watched the first few episodes of _Breaking Bad_ with John and Herc and brushed his teeth before bed. He waited as he watched the red numbers of his digital clock tick upwards.

No reply.

•

“Alex, _merde_ , get your head out of your ass!”

Alex shook himself out of whatever stupor he’d been stewing in, just in time to grab a pair of oven mitts off the counter and grab the hot tray Lafayette practically threw at him. Herc brushed past him with four cups of iced tea balanced on top of each other, smirking.

“A little lost in thought this fine morning, huh, Hammy?”

“Whatever you’re thinking about can wait,” Lafayette said, slamming open the pastry case and filling it faster than Alex had ever seen him do it before, throwing cookies next to muffins and muffins next to pumpkin bread. “ _Bête comme ses pieds, Dieu--_ "

“Hey,” Alex started to protest before Herc pushed him in front of the register. He fell into the swift routine of work, swiping cards and filling orders, passing all the ones for tea and tea-related things on to Herc, letting Lafayette deal with anything pertaining to the espresso machine since he still didn’t know how to work it. 

John had the morning off, thanks to the new schedule Washington had posted (giving each of them a little more time to themselves. Alex had that afternoon free, which he still wasn’t sure what he was going to do with), and the three of them were on their own. At around ten in the morning a customer complained that the toilet was clogged, at ten fifteen a toddler puked on the main table, and at ten thirty Samuel Seabury walked in the front door.

Alex was slumped against the counter, grateful for the moment to breathe. Libertea had been slammed ever since Herc unlocked the door at six, and while he was happy that the register was full and the seats were all taken, he still wanted to be able to catch a breath every once in a while. Lafayette was back in the kitchen, making another batch of his new scones (dark chocolate cranberry, and Herc was right, they were fucking _delicious_ ) when Seabury tapped him on the shoulder.

“Is this what passes for customer service around here?”

Herc sidled up behind Alex. “Morning, Sammy. What can we get for you?”

“I’m not here for your…” Seabury took a look around the shop, arching one eyebrow in a supremely autocratic move that had Alex wondering if he could throw one of Libertea’s hot cups hard enough to do any damage. “What would you call the swill you sell? Your… Product?”

“Uh…” Herc said. “Coffee?”

“You literally used to come in here every day,” Alex spat, “asking for a fucking venti macchiato. Remember that?”

Herc put one hand on his shoulder. “Alex, give me a second, I got this.”

“You sure?” he asked, glancing over at Seabury’s disdainful expression, but allowed Herc to step in front of him anyway. 

“And what is _this_?” Seabury said, gesturing at the teal clipboard Lafayette had attached to the pastry case that morning. It had a big header written in John’s blocked capitals, “ **PETITION TO SAVE SONS OF LIBERTEA** ”. The first four signatures were the employees, of course-- Alex’s scrawled _A. Hamilton_ , Lafayette hadn’t even written his real name but had graced the paper with a cursive _Lafayette_ , Herc had written _HERCULES F. MULLIGAN_ in all caps (apparently the “F” stood for “ _Fuckin_ ”), and John’s signature was the same as the one he signed on all of his artwork, _J. Laurens_. A few of their customers had already signed as well, they were up to ten, Alex had counted.

“We’re trying to save our shop,” Herc said in the most genial voice Alex had ever heard come out of his mouth, “you know. ‘Cause your boss is trying to ruin it.”

“Ah, yes,” Seabury said. “That is one of his more, ah, smaller business ventures. Kind of a once-and-done thing, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t, really,” Herc replied, face the picture of innocence. Alex shifted in his place behind him and Herc shot him the quickest look, a _shut up don’t ruin this_ look. “Care to explain?”

Seabury pulled out his iPad and swiped across the screen. “It doesn’t involve you.”

“All right,” Herc said. “I bet you don’t know anything, anyway. George King doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who tells his underlings the details of business plans.”

“Mr. King tells me _everything_ ,” Seabury said, eyes shooting up from where they’d been glued to his iPad screen. “Unlike your boss. _Washington_ wouldn’t know a business plan if one came up and slapped him in the face. It’ll be so easy for us to ruin his chance to save this garbage heap.”

Herc cocked his head to the side, about to say something, but Seabury was far from being done.

“King _knows_ Washington, they _worked_ together. He’s not about to be walked all over by some nobody who used to clean his shoes. King has information on your precious boss that you wouldn’t even believe. You think this is business? This isn’t business! This is _personal_ , Mulligan, and I’m on the winning side.”

Seabury took a deep breath and Herc butted in.

“You’re quite done, then?”

Alex clenched his fingers into tight fists. He had a few things to say to Seabury, a few choice words he picked out special for his _boss_ and his _iPad_ and his dumb idiot face, but only Herc’s hand, splayed in a wait signal underneath the counter out of Seabury’s sight, stopped him.

“Yes, I’m finished,” Seabury said, and then lashed out and knocked the petition off of the pastry counter. It clattered to the floor and Alex lunged forward right into Herc’s back as he moved to block him. “I’ll see you around, Mulligan. All The King’s Men is always hiring, you know, when you lose your dead-end job here.”

“Seeya, Sammy Sea,” Herc called after him as he left, bells on the door jangling in his wake. Libertea came to life again and the line filled up, people chattering over cups of coffee, handing their Visas and Mastercards to Alex so he could swipe them.

“What was that all about?” he asked Herc as Lafayette emerged from the kitchen with a fresh batch of scones and they were mobbed anew with customers wanting to try them. Herc moved his shirt collar so Alex could see the tiny recorder nestled there.

“It’s not business, it’s personal?” he asked, laughing. “That’s just what the bank’ll love to hear when they’re choosing Washington over King.”

Alex laughed too and high-fived him over Lafayette’s back as he filled the pastry case for the third time that morning. “That’s fucking brilliant, Mulligan, I could kiss you!”

“Alex and Herc?” John’s voice was unmistakable over the babble of the full shop. “What a trainwreck that would be, am I right?”

“Welcome to work, _ami_ ,” Lafayette grumbled, throwing him an apron. “Between Seabury and these two, this morning has been a nightmare.” John slipped the apron over his head and wrapped the ties twice around his waist. 

“What do you mean?” Herc argued as he put the petition back in its original spot on the pastry case. “You love us.” Lafayette made a soft groaning noise in response.

“Hey, Alex,” John said, motioning to the kitchen door. “Help me with something back here?”

Alex followed him to the back, talking all the while. “This morning really has been nuts, but it was a good sort of nuts, no matter what Laf says. We made a lot of money, and Herc _destroyed_ Seabury, he got this recording--”

“How was your date?” John asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Yesterday, with Eliza. I meant to ask you about it last night but I didn’t get around to it.”

“It wasn’t a date, John, I’ve told you a million times.” Alex tried not to think about those pictures the mystery number had taken of the two of them, close as newlyweds at Starbucks. His face grew hot just thinking about it. If John ever saw those… “Why do you think it was a date, anyway?”

John shrugged. “Bisexual you, pretty girl, coffeeshop. You’re turning red. It’s like a rom-com, Alex, I’m not an idiot.”

“I’m not blushing! And why do you _care_ if it was a date?”

“I don’t?”

“Well, it wasn’t, she doesn’t want to date anyone anyway, John, she’s had a rough year.”

“What the hell does _that_ mean?”

“It means it wasn’t a date, okay, get off my back about it!”

John took a step back, eyebrows furrowed, eyes dark. “Fine.”

He stalked out of the kitchen, and Alex was pretty sure that if the swinging door could slam, he’d have slammed it. What was his _problem_? 

It was eleven o’clock and he already wanted the day to be over. Seabury and his stupid iPad, Herc’s devious recorder, John’s anger, it was all too much for one morning. His relationship with Eliza had been so simply laid out a few hours ago, how had a couple of questions from John gotten everything so tangled again? He was glad that he was off the clock in an hour, for once he wanted to be alone.

The last hour of his half-day shift dragged. He spent most of it in the kitchen with Lafayette, who had his headphones on and didn’t talk much, which Alex was grateful for. As soon as his phone said that it was noon, he was out the door.

The day was brisk and cool, and he tugged on his jacket as he made his way through the streets of New York. He needed to head back to the apartment and study, or maybe he’d go to the library and study, or the park would be a nice place to go for a while and study, but studying was not on his mind as he turned a corner and another and another, grateful that he was getting farther and farther away from Libertea and John Laurens as he walked on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: A message from the King, and Alex meets up with his study group. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	12. And When Push Comes To Shove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Libertea gets threatened with some fully-armed battalions, we meet Madison, Eliza and Peggy have some advice.

Alex pulled on his old maroon jacket, fitting his thumbs in the little holes and slipping his phone into the left pocket. Two days had passed since his argument with John, and the air still wasn’t clear. John talked to him, sure, but about dumb stuff like whether or not Captain America could beat Iron Man in a fight, and even then it was only in a group context, around the dinner table with their other roommates or when the four of them watched _How I Met Your Mother_ reruns on TV late at night.

(The four of them agreed fundamentally on one thing: Robin deserved better.)

He couldn’t be bothered waiting for the elevator, so he jogged down the stairs, simultaneously texting Lafayette that he was just leaving the apartment and taking bites out of one of the toaster strudels John had left on the counter that morning. He wasn’t sure if they were meant to be for him, but they were strawberry, and that was his favorite kind. 

John was distant, and that hurt, but Alex was more than willing to give him his space if it meant eventually getting back to where their friendship had been. 

He unlocked Libertea’s front door right at opening time, slipping inside and grabbing an apron as Herc yelled from across the room.

“Sleep in, much?”

John snickered from his place behind the espresso machine and Alex rolled his eyes.

“Hey, I’m here, all right?”

“An accomplishment, I’m sure,” Washington deadpanned, coming out of the kitchen and pulling on a colonial apron of his own. Burr was the first customer inside, raising one finger in a sarcastic sort of greeting as he handed Alex his card and three drinks came simultaneously hurtling down the bar. One large coffee with three stars, Washington. One Americano with a poop emoji, Burr. One John Laurens’ special mocha frappe with… Alex turned the drink around in his hands, facing the very same poop emoji right at John.

“Really?”

John shrugged one very insincere shoulder. “Now you and Burr match.”

They fell into their normal morning routine, Herc organizing the teas, softly singing some Simon  & Garfunkel song under his breath, Lafayette setting up the pastry display and singing Carly Rae Jepsen, Burr texting at the end of the bar, Washington sweeping by the big table, humming something Alex had never heard before, and John filling up the larger mini-fridge, unabashedly belting out Adele.

He whipped a dishtowel right at Burr. “So hello from the other _SIDE_ \--”

And right then, someone’s phone went off and Libertea was filled with a buzzing, jingling ringtone; the kind of ringtone that comes pre-programmed on phones and no one over sixty bothers to change it. The kind of ringtone that goes off and a hundred parents reach for their phones. The kind of ringtone that screams _I have never heard of turning my phone on vibrate and I’m proud of it_.

Washington picked up his phone. “Hello?”

“From the other side,” John stage-whispered. Burr threw the dishtowel back at him.

“Yes, this is he.” Washington’s demeanor had darkened as soon as he’d answered the call, and now it looked like a raincloud had made permanent residence over his eyebrows. “Yes, I can hold.”

“Who is it?” Herc asked, coming up behind Alex with a big tin of mint tea in his arms. Alex shrugged at the same time that John did, and Lafayette slid onto a stool right beside Burr. As a collective it seemed like they’d agreed to pause work, and watched as Washington started to pace.

“Yes?” he asked, impatience undercutting his polite, forced tone. “Ah. George. To what do I owe this… What is this? Pleasure? Privilege?”

“Oh, shit,” Herc murmured.

Lafayette shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “It’s King.”

George King said something that Alex couldn’t hear, his voice tinny and distorted coming from the phone. Whatever he’d said, Washington didn’t like it, and his eyebrows drew closer and closer together as he continued to pace.

“That’s not a price I’m willing to pay,” Washington said, and Alex was pretty sure he was taking great pains to make sure his voice was even and calm. “My business doesn’t belong to you, _I_ don’t belong to you--”

King cut him off. Washington glared at nothing.

“If I want to change the subject, I will, this is getting out of hand--” Washington slammed his phone onto the counter, looked up at the ceiling, and took a deep breath. “I can’t deal with this today.”

Alex fought the urge to raise his hand like he was in a classroom, and instead met Washington’s frustrated gaze. “Want me to tell him to fuck off?”

John barked out a surprised laugh and, for Alex, it was almost worth the fact that Washington actually pushed the phone towards him, one eyebrow quirked.

“All yours, Mr. Hamilton.”

Alex lifted the phone, egged on by John’s still astonished expression and Herc’s low whistle of admiration. “Hey, Mr. King, you got Alex Hamilton, barista, on the line.” 

John was full-on grinning now, and even Burr looked impressed.

He took a deep breath. “So, listen up, if you think you can fuck with the Sons of Libertea, you got another thing com--”

“Hamilton, you say?” King’s voice was smooth lilting, and off-putting. Alex took a step back, like he expected George King to physically manifest out of the phone in his hand and strangle him while whispering children’s poetry in his English accent. “This can’t be the same Alex Hamilton who dear George put in charge of his finances.”

Alex swallowed. “Uh, one and the same.”

“Oh, that’s just adorable.” King’s voice darkened, dipping into a new octave, softly weaving through the airwaves to meet Alex’s ear. “You’re making me mad, Alex Hamilton. And we can’t have that.”

Alex’s shoulders went taut, his entire body going rigid as fury swept through him. Who was this guy to act like a tyrant? He wasn’t an actual king, they weren’t his subjects, and they didn’t have to do anything he said. “And why should that bother me?”

“Because it’s a very big mistake.”

“We--”

“I will fight the fight,” King went on, his dulcet tones interrupting Alex like he’d never spoken. “I will win the war. And it will be like you never raised your hand against me.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Alex managed to get out.

“I never forgive and I never forget.” King laughed then, a breathy giggle that sent icy-cold fingers trailing down Alex’s spine. “I will kill your friends and family to remind you…”

He blew out a breath. “Of… My… Love.”

The line went dead. 

Alex jerked the phone away from his ear as it buzzed, not five seconds after King had hung up. He glanced at it before handing the phone back to Washington.

**(UNSAVED CONTACT)**

You’ll be back ♥

Washington swiped at something on the screen of his phone, tapping it so hard that Alex wouldn’t be surprised if the screen cracked. He looked up, meeting Alex’s eyes with a deeply apologetic look.

“Listen, son, I shouldn’t have let you talk to him. I know what King’s like, and--”

“He’s like that _all the time_?” Alex asked, trying to play it cool, trying to mask the fact that he was rattled. “The weird movie villain routine? What a nutball.”

Washington slipped his phone into the pocket of his apron. “He’s always been a little bit overdramatic. He took it as a personal offense when I stopped working with him, and it turned into… Well…” He gestured around at the inside of the shop. “It is what it is.”

“We’re going to take him down,” Alex said, flipping the page over on the signatures clipboard. More people had signed it since Lafayette put it up, including a few that looked like John’s badly disguised handwriting, and he couldn’t wait to see every piece of notebook paper filled up with signatures. “I mean, it’s him and Seabury against us. Who wants to go up against _us_?”

Burr made a sarcastic coughing noise from behind his phone and his Americano, but Lafayette hummed in agreement and Washington cracked a smile.

“That’s the spirit.”

Alex made himself busy behind the counter as the workday continued, cleaning and re-cleaning every flat surface he could find (the counter itself got cleaned four times), sampling another one of Lafayette’s new scone recipes (maple sugar pecan), dodging everything John tried to hit him with (two empty hot cups, his Sharpie, one of the scones, too many single coffee beans to count). At two o’clock he took off his apron and grabbed his backpack.

“And where do you think you’re going?” John asked, filling a cup with cold brew. 

“I have a meeting with my study group in a half hour,” Alex replied, brushing crumbs off of his shirt and shaking out his hair. “I would’ve told you, ‘cept you hate me.”

“I don’t fucking--” John rolled his eyes and yelled back into the kitchen. “Laf, get out here, I’m going on a lunch break.”

Lafayette peeked his head through the divider window. “You had a lunch break.”

“I never got my elevensies break, though, so I’m taking that now.”

Herc, from across the shop, blew a loud breath out through his nose. “We don’t follow the hobbit meal schedule, John, for the millionth time--”

“Just call me Bilbo,” John called over his shoulder as he darted out of the door, bells jangling, with Alex right on his heels. He glanced back. “Let me walk you to school?”

“Of course,” Alex replied as they made their way down the street, dodging fast-walking New York natives and google-eyed tourists. “So, about you hating me…”

John rolled his eyes for the third or fourth time in that hour alone. “Alex, I told you, I don’t fucking hate you, I just don’t want you--”

“Going on dates with Eliza Schuyler.”

“Exactly.”

Alex nudged him with his backpack. “I told you, it wasn’t a date. Her dad’s going to help us save the shop. You gotta trust me.”

John paused for a second. “I do. Trust you, I mean.” He paused again, for longer this time. “Sorry I’ve been acting like a douche.”

Alex hit him again. “Douchebag Laurens.”

“Jackass Ham.”

They walked in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the mid-fall sunshine, leaves swirling underneath their feet and the light breeze lifting Alex’s hair off of his forehead. He resisted craning his neck to look at the towering skyscrapers even though he wanted to; just thinking about the fact that he was in New York, living, working, _being_ in the greatest city in the world, was enough to paste a stupid grin all over his face.

“What the hell are you so smiley about?” John asked, his quick smile betraying his inherently accusing tone. “Really happy to be going to class?”

“Sure, that’s it.” Alex hiked his backpack higher on his shoulders. “Actually I don’t have class, I told you, I’m meeting with my study group. We have essays due next week, we’re on the team that has to defend the Constitution, and we have to divide up the work between us.”

“You’re gonna end up taking most of it, aren’t you?”

“Not unless I want to physically die of stress I won’t.”

John nudged him this time. “I know you, Hamilton. Bet you five bucks you end up with most of the work.”

“You’re on.”

They shook hands quickly and rounded a corner. The library was in sight, and Alex pointed at it. 

“That’s where we’re meeting.”

“Who’s this we, anyway?”

“Two guys from class,” Alex answered. “I’ve actually never met the one. His name’s John too, John Jay, and I don’t know if he exists.”

John nodded sagely. “All Johns are enigmas.”

“And the other guy’s name is James Madison,” Alex continued. “I tried calling him _Mads_ one time and he got all huffy, but other than that he’s pretty cool, I guess. Smart. Gets sick all the time, though.”

“He sounds familiar for some reason,” John said. “Does he come into the shop at all?”

“I don’t think so. Not since I’ve started working there at least.”

“Huh.” John ran two hands through his curls. “Ask him if he’s ever been in. Maybe he knew Laf or something back in the day and for some reason I remember his name. Laf’s such a fuckin’ people person. I will never understand.”

Alex decided not to mention that John was also a people person, and jogged up a few of the steps leading to the library. He turned back around and threw a salute in his direction. 

“Have a good rest of the day at work,” he said. John stuck out his tongue.

“Have fun with your orgy, I mean, study session.”

Alex raised his eyebrows. “Huh. Maybe I'll invite Eliza.”

“Fuck you!” 

He laughed at the same time John did and turned to head into the library. The last thing he saw before he plunged into the old building, out of the sun and lingering warmth of fall, was John shaking his head, skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he grinned. 

Alex was more than familiar with the on-campus library. The librarians (two older women and one middle aged man) knew him by name, he could navigate the tall, dark shelves better than a old-timey ship captain at sea, and the big table at the very back was always open.

It wasn’t open now, books spread all over the surface, but Alex joined the only person sitting there anyway.

“Hey, man, how’s everything going?”

James Madison lifted his head from a tall stack of notebooks. There was a long pencil-shaped indentation on his cheek like he’d been lying there for a while. He lifted his phone wordlessly, swiping down so that Alex could read the text displayed on the screen.

**Jay**

JJ: can’t make it today

JJ: sick

JM: Okay.

JJ: email me my part of the project

“Sick?” Alex asked.

“I highly doubt it,” Madison replied in his trademark calm voice, although this time it was undercut by a vein of righteous fury. “There was a party in the dorm a few rooms down from mine last night, and I’m pretty sure Jay’s still hungover.” He dropped the phone back onto the stack of books.

“I’ll take his part of the assignment,” Alex offered up immediately, and then remembered his bargain with John. _Shit_. 

“We have to give him _something_ ,” Madison countered. “No offense meant by this, but your writing style is pretty discernible.”

“None taken.” Alex pulled Madison’s open notebook towards him; already written on it was a list of different possible essays they could write, defending different parts of the Constitution. Alex disagreed with a few of the stances Madison had outlined, but disagreeing wasn’t part of the assignment. He needed to defend and defend _well_ , and as he ran his finger down the list of essay ideas, his brain was already churning with half-formed sentences and partial arguments.

“I’ll take this one--” he grabbed a green highlighter and started circling “--and this one, and this…”

“All right,” Madison said, leaning over his books and snatching the highlighter, “didn’t I just say you weren’t allowed to have all of them?”

Alex didn’t reply, instead pulled out a notebook of his own to copy down the essay prompts he chose. There were a lot, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Madison made purple checkmarks next to the ones he wanted, and the rest (a meager five) they delegated to Jay. Alex was already thinking ahead, planning opening statements, creating even more prompts he could pull essays from. Madison would kill him, but once he got started the only way to stop was to get everything down on paper.

“Hey, man,” he said offhandedly, copying down the last prompt, “have you ever been to Sons of Libertea? It’s a coffeeshop about ten minutes from here.”

Madison made some sort of humming noise as he slid his books and papers into a black backpack. “Is that the one with all the colonial flags?”

Alex nodded.

“I’ve been there. Haven’t in awhile, ever since Thomas left for his semester abroad.”

Alex didn’t miss the dirty look that Madison shot at no one in particular, or the muttered “ _semester_. More like _two years_.”

Without letting Alex ask any more questions, he stood, slinging his backpack over his back and picking up his coat. Alex didn’t really understand why he had a coat, it was fall but it wasn’t all that cold outside.

“Well you should come back.” Alex scooted a chair over, giving himself more room to spread out his papers. The library was quiet and secluded, he might as well get some work done. “I work there, it’s a great place.”

“Maybe I’ll swing by. Oh, and I’ll send Jay his assignments later.” Madison gave Alex a half-wave before leaving, stepping out of sight behind some shelves. Alex pulled out the pencil he’d stuck in his ponytail earlier that day, hunching over the table and getting down to business. 

The rough draft of his first essay flowed out of his pencil; he barely needed to think as he scratched out every thought that came into his head. He’d clean it up later, but there was nothing more therapeutic than writing with no consequences. He didn’t stop to correct misspellings, he didn’t stop to brush away pencil shavings, he barely even stopped to take a breath.

His phone lit up and despite himself, he glanced at the glowing screen. _John_. 

He put down his pencil.

_Figured out who James Madison is,_ the text read. _Lafayette knew him way back when Washington first started Libertea. I told you, Laf knows everybody!_

_I figured,_ Alex texted back. _Madison said something about some guy named Thomas. I bet Lafayette knows him, too. Old employee, maybe?_

_Maybe. I never knew him. Don’t really pay much attention to the dicks that work here, anyway._

Alex laughed a little at that, earning him a dirty look from an old guy a few tables away. _You’re the dick. Stop making me laugh in the library._

_Stop talking about my dick, Hamilton, it’s inappropriate for the workplace._

_You wish,_ Alex’s thumbs typed, even though his brain was on autopilot. He waited five seconds, John’s normal text-back time, no response. One whole minute, no response. Three minutes and forty-seven seconds, no response. He brought up Eliza’s contact.

_‘liza, I was texting John and now he’s not responding,_ he messaged. _What did I do wrong?_

It took her less than a second to text back.

_YOU LIKE HIM!_

Those three words pulsed in black on his grey phone screen as he stared, a little dumbstruck, essays forgotten, Madison forgotten, even John typing the word _dick_ forgotten. He was surprised he hadn’t heard Eliza scream all the way from her apartment.

_Since when?_ he replied, casually, keeping it casual. 

_Why would you say that?_ he texted again, three seconds after the original text.

_I don’t like John Laurens, Eliza, why would you even think that?_

Eliza’s contact blinked up onto his screen. She was calling him. He debated on waiting to answer it, as he was supposedly keeping things casual, but he pressed the answer button in record time.

“Hello?” he answered. Casually.

“ _What did I do wrong_?” she asked, the first words out of her mouth echoing his earlier text. “Why are you worrying about an unanswered text unless you like him?” 

“Because he’s been acting all weird lately, about the two of us hanging out, and I don’t--”

“Holy shit, tell him to shut up!” That was Peggy, somewhere in the background of wherever Eliza was. Alex narrowed his eyes.

“Do you have me on speakerphone?”

“Yes,” Peggy answered as Eliza said something indiscernible in the background, “because you’re being an idiot and Eliza needed witnesses. Now, you like John, and I’m assuming John likes you, because of all the jealousy and the general aura he has around him, the _I-want-to-put-my-face-on-your-face_ aura…”

“The what?”

“What Peggy’s trying to say,” Eliza said, butting back in and hopefully taking the phone far away from her sister, “is that the two of you need to talk about this. If you really do like him, and I think you do, even if you haven’t admitted it to yourself, than _communication_. Come on!”

“What if he doesn’t like me back?” Alex asked. 

“Like you back because…”

“Okay!” Alex said loudly, ignoring the old man who had started full-on glaring at him from the other table. “I like him! I like John. But what if it’s not real, you know? What if I just think he’s cute and hilarious and artistic and fun to be around and--”

“Buddy?” Peggy broke in. “You’re rambling.”

“But what if I can’t give him what he’s looking for?”

“You’ll never know what he’s looking for until you talk to him.” Eliza’s voice was low and calming. “Communication is key. _Talk to him_.”

“Or just kiss him,” Peggy suggested.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do it.”

“Alex? _Talk_.”

Alex kneaded his forehead with the knuckles of his left hand. “I gotta wait until all this shit with King blows over,” he said finally. “I can’t put this on him when we’re all stressed out about our jobs. That makes sense, right?”

“If you think so, then yes,” Eliza said as Peggy yelled “ _NO_ ” in the background. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”

“Eliza?” he asked.

“Yes?” she replied.

He took a deep breath. “I’ve never been in a relationship before. A real one, you know. But I think I want that, I want that with John, and I’m scared shitless, okay?”

The line was quiet for a heartbeat before she answered.

“Hold onto that. The fear, the passion, Alex, it’s what drives you. You want him? Go get him.”

And then, inexplicably, Alex thought of Burr. Playing a long game of chess with his heart as the queen, waiting and waiting and _waiting_ for something he wasn’t even sure was fully his. He couldn’t do that, he couldn’t wait for a move that he didn’t know was coming for sure. 

He closed his eyes and steeled himself then, rolled his shoulders back as if he was going to war, curled his fist as if he was ready to throw punches. 

“I’m going to get him.” His eyes snapped open and he stared at a page full of highlighted notes, but his mind was on one thing, one freckly, ink-stained, firestorm of a man named John Laurens. “Just you wait.”

There was a rush of static as Eliza exhaled a laugh. “I have no doubt that you will, Alex Hamilton.”

“Tell him I said hit that!” Peggy yelled in the background. Eliza laughed again.

“Peggy says _hit that_.”

Alex grinned, moving his phone away from his ear for a second so he could check his messages. There was one from Jay, a question about the assignment that he ignored, one from Washington about the schedule that he’d answer later, and one new one from John. 

_I wish that my dick were appropriate for the workplace? Well, I guess that’s true. In other news, Laf and Herc are ganging up on me in wastecan basketball and I need you on my team, so stop thinking about my dick and get the fuck back here! Tell your study group I said suck it. With love._

“John texted me back,” he said. Eliza made a raspberry-sounding noise.

“Told ya. You know you really ought to listen to me, right?”

“I know.”

“Now hang up and make your dreams come true, okay?”

“My getting-good-grades dreams, my saving-Libertea dreams, or my Laurens dreams?”

“All three,” she said, voice the epitome of confidence. “What's your name?”

He had to grin at that. “I’m Alexander Hamilton, bitch!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Alex pines, and Mr. Schuyler gives his testimony.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	13. How Lucky We Are To Be Alive Right Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex tries to come to terms with his crush, Burr's fine, and Philip Schuyler gives his testimony.

The next day, Libertea was in full swing. The pastry case was stocked and steadily depleted by their stream of customers, Herc’s bagged scoops of blended tea were selling like tea was being made illegal, and Alex got the privilege of manning an overflowing register. People kept asking about their petition, so often that John had written _“THEY WILL SHUT US DOWN UNLESS YOU SIGN THE PAPER”_ in his neatest block handwriting above the specials board.

The specials board itself had one of Libertea’s large hot cups drawn on it, and John had written the phrase “I like big cups and I cannot lie” underneath. That morning it had said _“I like my men how I like my coffee, rich, hot, and can keep me up all night long”_ , but Washington had made him erase it.

“I’m trying to save this place, Mr. Laurens, not have a medium soy latte thrown in my face by one of our more conservative customers,” he had said as soon as he walked in the door and saw the board. John had cackled and redone it. 

The petition itself was more overflowing than the register. Herc had added two more pieces of notebook paper and John tore a page out of his sketchbook to contribute. Most of their regulars had signed, most notably being Mrs. Ross, who had come by the previous day, heard the whole story, and took up an entire page with her signature. John had asked her to sit by the bar and give a short testimony, which he captured with his video camera (that Alex was pretty sure was from the early nineteenth century, though John insisted it was the latest technology).

Alex had watched her testimony; it was short and sweet as she quickly told the story of how she and Washington met, how she designed the aprons and logo for Libertea, how she helped decorate the place. She ended by pointing at the camera, but actually at John behind it.

“And _that_ young man,” she said, holding back a smile, “makes the best cup of coffee this side of Seattle.” Alex could hear John’s embarrassed laughter in the background, as well as when he muttered--

“Ah, shut the hell up, Mrs. Ross.”

John had come to him the previous night after he got home (he’d ended up ditching the rest of his shift at Libertea, hiding out in the library until closing, writing his essays and thinking about his conversation with Eliza) and asked him if he’d do the video documentary for the bank presentation instead. It stressed him out, he explained, and he didn’t have an eye for video like he did while he was drawing.

Alex agreed, partially because it was _John_ , and partially because if he was behind the camera, no one could catch him doing anything embarrassing. 

Embarrassing like staring at John as he bent over the espresso machine to grab the pen he’d accidentally dropped behind it. No, he wasn’t doing anything embarrassing like that.

As soon as the line dwindled down and Libertea settled into its normal midday hum of activity, Alex took the camera out again. He had a lot of experience watching documentaries, and he knew he needed to get natural shots of the shop to space out the testimonies, to let whoever decided their fate know how calm and community-friendly Libertea was.

From the counter, John threw a handful of coffee beans at the door. “Fucking shit, you fuckface, where the hell have you been?”

(Alex was still shooting. He rolled his eyes and made a mental note to delete that section when he edited everything together.)

Burr dodged another handful of beans and made his way up to the bar. He settled down onto his normal stool in the corner, John slid his Americano across the counter, he handed John a five dollar bill like a well-rehearsed dance. Alex sidled up behind John, camera at the ready.

“Where’ve you been?” John asked again. Burr rolled his eyes and took a sip.

“Theo’s.”

Alex held the camera up. “This is Alex Ham, with the one o’clock news, we’re here with Aaron Burr, who _still_ hasn’t told this girl how he feels--”

“Get that out of my face,” Burr said, pushing the camera away. Alex pointed at the red light.

“Not really filming.”

“My original statement still stands. Out of my face.”

“Wait one gosh darn second, who’s your lady?” John asked, leaning his elbows onto the bar. “I remember you saying something, maybe like a week ago, but the details are all fuzzy.”

“Maybe because you were completely shitfaced,” Burr said, taking another supremely nonchalant sip of his drink. “And it’s none of your business.”

“You’re a shitface,” John shot back, “and you told Alex, so what’s the problem? Come on, Burr, I see you like every day. I make your fucking drink. You’re my work wife.”

“I am not your _work wife_.”

Alex gave Burr a disappointed look. “How dare you keep this from your work wife.”

“He’s not… I didn’t…” Burr heaved a gigantic sigh and set his Americano down with probably more force than necessary and focused on John. “Theodosia is my girlfriend. She’s engaged to another man. They haven’t broken the engagement off yet, for reasons unknown to me. I’m fine.”

“Damn.” John whistled. “I had no idea. Sorry, man.”

“I’m _fine_.”

Alex jerked a thumb at Burr and stage-whispered to John. “Not fine.”

Burr made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and pulled out his phone, leaning against the wall and making a point to ignore them. John turned towards Alex, isolating Burr. He pointed at the camera.

“Get any good footage yet?”

Alex thought back to earlier that morning, to the pen and the espresso machine incident, and shook his head. “Nope, no good footage yet.”

John picked up the camera, red not-shooting light still blinking, and pointed it at Burr. “This is Johnny L, with the afternoon Burr report, and we still have jack-shit to say. The man’s as boring as watching a ninety-year-old write the alphabet.”

From behind his phone, Burr rolled his eyes.

“We’ll be back as soon as there’s something to report on,” John continued in his hammed-up reporter voice, “which will be absolutely never. Bye.”

Alex grabbed the camera back as John snickered, opening the side panel and watching as the light blinked green. He took it around the shop with him, getting what he hoped were aesthetically pleasing shots of Herc’s barrels of tea, the string of bells on the door jangling every time someone entered, the specials boards, steam curling into the air every time John needed hot milk for a drink.

He constantly found himself gravitating back to John; shots of John scooping whole coffee beans into the grinder, shots of John talking to a customer, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, handing them their drink, shots of John doing a little side-shuffle, hip-wiggle dance as he waited for the blender to finish whirring. A particularly long slice of footage as he watched John doodle on a stray napkin for an embarrassing stretch of time. 

_I like John Laurens_ , he thought to himself every time he caught himself staring, which was a lot.

_I_ like _John Laurens._

_I like_ John Laurens. 

It made no sense, but, as he watched John slyly toss coffee beans into Burr’s drink every time he was distracted by his phone, it made the most sense in the world.

He’d never felt at home anywhere. Not in Nevis, not in his college dorm, not even prowling the streets of New York, his favorite place he’d ever been, where he thought he’d feel an immediate sense of belonging. What had he said to Eliza? A _hurricane_. A hurricane had started brewing deep inside of him ever since he was born to a sickly mother and a distant father on that windy, howling winter night in the West Indies, and for as long as he’d been alive, it had never known rest.

It rested now.

Rested in the small room in the apartment he shared with his three best friends, in pancakes in the morning and takeout at night, with jokes and feet up on the coffeetable and Herc’s workout mix blasting through the walls. Rested in the trust Washington gave him, in the security that came with employment at Libertea, even through all the arrows George King could think to let loose. 

Rested in the charcoal-stained, freckle-dusted hands of John Laurens, whether he knew it or not.

“Hey, Alex, help me with this?” Herc called across the shop.

Alex started, breaking himself out of the reverie. He jogged over to Herc and held his arms out to receive a few of the lighter tea canisters, dumping them in an unorganized pile on the table Herc directed him to.

“You okay?” Herc asked, picking up a few of the canisters and stacking them on top of each other. He glanced over at Alex, eyebrows quirked, dark eyes questioning. It reminded him of how kids in his old dorm would complain about their moms constantly checking in on them, how they wanted to be alone. Alex never understood that. It was nice to have someone worried about him.

“Yeah, I’m all right, why?” 

“You seemed a little lost in thought. Anything going on up there?” Herc tapped his forehead twice. Alex fought the urge to squirm at that, and laughed instead, hoping Herc didn’t catch on to his discomfort, or the way his brain immediately jumped to John, John, _John_.

“Always, my man, nothing different than usual. Big school project coming up. You know how it is.”

“Sure, sure. Just checking in.”

John’s voice cut through the shop’s general hum of activity smoother than a knife through butter. “Schuyler incoming in five, four, three…”

Eliza burst through the door, almost knocking the string of bells to the ground, eyes wide until they locked on Alex with focused intensity. She pointed straight at him and then pointed again, panting a little, trying to catch her breath.

“Eliza,” Alex said, picking his way through the customers, dodging an older woman hell-bent on using an expired coupon. He’d let John deal with that one. “What are you doing? Are you okay?”

She latched onto his shoulder. “Just ran from my dad’s office. He said he wants to meet with you, but you gotta go now. He’s on his lunch break, but--”

“He wants to see me alone?”

“We’re all there. Me, Ang, Peggy. He made the decision like five minutes ago and he might change his mind unless we go now, I tried to call you like twenty times on the way over here--”

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. It was true. Six missed calls, Eliza Schuyler. Two voicemails, Eliza Schuyler. One very strongly worded text, Peggy Schuyler.

Alex showed her his phone. “Peggy says if I don’t get my ass to your dad’s office, she’s going to enter me to be a contestant on _The Price Is Right_ and I won’t be able to leave until I win her a, in her words, _motherfucking dune buggy_.”

Eliza nodded sagely. “Her classic threat.”

“What does that even _mean_?”

“It means we have no time!” Eliza waved over the crowd at John and Herc, who were tending to a growing line of customers. “Can I steal him for a minute? It’s for the good of Libertea!”

“Bring him back when you’re done,” John yelled back, and winked at Alex. At least, Alex thought it was for him. It definitely made his knees go a little weak. 

He ignored Eliza giving him what was probably a very smug look, and let her pull him out of the shop and down the road. He actually had to make effort to keep up with her; she had bright blue Nikes on her feet and a very determined glimmer in her eyes. He sucked in a breath as they rounded a corner at top speed.

“You’re excited about this, aren’t you?” he managed to ask.

She glanced over at him and let a wild grin flash across her features for a heartbeat. “I’m just happy to be a part of this, you know?”

“A part of what?”

“You. Libertea. _This_!” She made a wide sweeping gesture at the street they were on, at the skyscrapers that surrounded them as they walked on. “Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now!”

“Poetry?”

She shot him another smile. “Actually, I think it was a song.”

He nudged her in the ribs. Her energy was infectious, and even made him a little less nervous for the meeting that was about to happen. “‘Liza, with you on our side, I don’t think we’ll be able to lose.”

“Just being a part of it,” she continued immediately, like she was tacking on to the end of his sentence, “the narrative of it all, of you, is enough. I’m not afraid; I know who you are. With you, there’s _no chance_ of playing a losing game.”

“You think highly of me, Ms. Schuyler.”

“How could I not?” She softly pushed him to make a left. “Look at you, your smile, your mind, damn it, Alex, your brilliant mind. Look around, look around.” 

She tapped him on the nose one time, and then nodded towards a very intimidating entryway flanked by two revolving doors. A plaque off to the side said _The Offices of P. Schuyler, floor 34._

“At how lucky we are to be alive right now,” he finished, and let her lead the way.

 

•••

 

“So, Mr. Hamilton.” Philip Schuyler steepled his fingers over the sheaf of papers on his desk. “You want to videotape me.”

Alex shifted in his chair. It was wooden, some sort of dark-finished oak or something, and had a cushion made out of deep red fabric. It was a chair he’d expect to see in a museum, or a castle, and here he was, sitting on it in some guy’s office. Eliza was in the chair next to him, head cocked slightly to the side, attentive to everything her dad said. 

There were only two chairs in front of his desk, so Angelica was at a conference table on the other side of the office, eating what looked to be an egg salad sandwich and having a spirited discussion with Peggy, who, every once in a while, threw a piece of popcorn at Alex, which he stoically ignored as Philip talked. There were kernels scattered all around his chair.

The energy the three sisters gave off was a relaxed one, an air of _this isn’t supposed to be intimidating at all_. Philip was the exact opposite. He sat ramrod straight, his suit pressed to perfection, his tie the same red as the chair cushion. He took this seriously, and Alex tried to match him for it, movement for movement.

Another piece of popcorn hit him in right under his eye.

“Score,” Peggy said, and he heard the distinct sound of her high-fiving Angelica.

“Sir,” he said, resolutely ignoring the fact that he wanted nothing more than to scoop up all of the popcorn on the floor and shove it down the back of Peggy’s shirt, “you know Washington, you know what the shop’s like. If you were to give a short testimony, on video, so we can add it to our loan request, it would help us out a lot.”

“Why me?”

Alex furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s a joke, right?”

Eliza kicked him in the shin.

“Uh, I mean, you’re one of the most influential people in the city. If anyone has pull against George King, it’s you.”

Mr Schuyler sat up straighter, if that was even possible. “I suggest you start filming, then.”

Alex had his video camera up and rolling before he even took another breath. Mr. Schuyler was nothing if not efficient, speaking for exactly two minutes and fifty-nine seconds, but it was enough. He told the story of how he met Washington, how he was one of the original investors in the shop, and how he even bought the first drink on the property. He ended it by making a statement that stuck with Alex for the rest of the day.

“Sons of Libertea is an investment for this city,” he said as Alex filmed. “It isn’t just a place to get a cup of, if I recall, excellently brewed coffee. It is a place to meet, a place to relax, a place that feels like home. Thank you.”

He nodded at Alex, and he pressed a button. The light on the camera blinked red.

After a beat of silence, Alex lowered the camera. “Thank you, Mr. Schuyler.”

He waved his hand. “It’s nothing. I’m glad you thought to come to me. If you need anything else, you know where to find me.”

He looked over at Eliza, and she immediately stood, placing her hand on Alex’s shoulder.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“You’re going back to Libertea?” Peggy shot across the office at top speed. “I’m coming, I’m coming! I gotta get some of that mocha goodness, like, right now.” Angelica also stood and lazily made her way to where her sisters stood in a small clump by the door. Alex joined them.

“Thanks again, Mr. Schuyler,” he said over his shoulder.

“Please,” he replied, “call me Philip.”

As soon as the door closed behind them, Alex turned to face the three Schuyler sisters.

“I’m never calling him Philip.”

Peggy cackled and dug her elbow into his ribs. “So, d’you ask John out yet?”

Alex sputtered, Eliza said _“Margarita Schuyler!”_ in a very affronted tone of voice, and Angelica raised one perfectly done eyebrow as far as it could go.

“You told them?”

“Told them what?” Alex shot back right after he was done sputtering.

“That you like Laurens.”

“You _knew_?” Eliza asked. 

“Of course I know,” Angelica said, like it was common knowledge, like she’d read it in the _New York Times_ that morning. “Alex didn’t tell me, but I know.”

“How?”

The eyebrow raised even higher than Alex thought was physically possible. “Because I know.”

Peggy snorted. “You’re such a fucking Slytherin.”

“Huh?” This was from Eliza.

“You know,” Peggy continued, “ _Harry Potter_.”

They walked back to the shop as a tight little clump, Eliza and Angelica together on the sidewalk with Peggy and Alex right behind them, arguing about the Sorting Hat and stepping over cracks with superstitious accuracy. Peggy agreed that Alex joined Angelica in Slytherin, but scoffed when he tried to put her in Hufflepuff.

“I’m a Gryffindor, bitch! Now ‘Liza, there’s a Hufflepuff for you…”

He had to agree with that. They both thought Burr was a textbook Ravenclaw, both put Lafayette into Gryffindor, but disagreed on Herc. Alex thought he belonged with Lafayette in Gryffindor, Peggy wanted to put him in Hufflepuff. 

“And John?” Peggy asked, grinning.

“Gryffindor,” Alex assented, rolling his eyes. “Shut up, Schuyler, I know you want to put him in Slytherin with me. But did you see him punch Lee’s lights out?”

“You were about to do the same thing,” she argued, “that’s pretty fucking Gryffindor-ian of you.”

“Don’t try to take me away from my House, dude.” Alex darted ahead of the group to hold the door open for the three sisters, closing it behind them when they were all inside. They got in line while Alex ducked behind the counter, grabbing his apron and tying it around his waist. 

John hip-bumped his side in greeting, handing him a few drinks to disperse to the group in front of the counter. They were busy for the next half hour, and the Schuylers set up camp at the far end of the big table. Angelica had her laptop out (Alex had no doubt that she was hard at work on her grammar project), and Eliza and Peggy were both bent over Peggy’s phone. 

Just as John and Alex finished the order of the last person in line, Lafayette slammed the kitchen door open and sauntered into the main area of the shop. He pointed at John.

“You owe me ten dollars.”

“What?” John said, swiping at the counter with a wet rag. “Like shit I do, du Motier.”

He slid his phone across the bar.

**(Unsaved Contact)**

In the States now. Will come by tomorrow in the AM

John quirked an eyebrow. “The fuck’s that mean?”

“Franklin,” Lafayette said smugly, crossing his arms. “He’s coming to let Alex film his testimony.”

“From _France_?”

He nodded, again, smugly.

“Damn, fine, okay.” John pulled a five out of his pocket and another five out of the tip jar, sliding them back across the counter with Lafayette’s phone. “I can’t believe you got Benny Frank to fly in all the way from fucking _France_.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Laurens, you owe me twenty bucks,” Herc yelled, crashing through the door and going the same route into the store that Lafayette had. John threw his hands up in the air.

“I’m never betting on anything with you fuckwads ever again!”

“Check it.” Herc showed them his phone screen.

**B. v. Steub**

BvS: be in tomorrow morning

BvS: make sure george is there

“You got the Steub?”

Herc grinned. “I got the Steub.”

“And I got Mr. Schuyler’s testimony this morning,” Alex added, “but we didn’t bet about that.”

“‘Cause that was a shoo-in,” John said, digging in his bag for a twenty, which he then handed to Herc. “Like Philly Schuy was going to say no to his favorite daughter’s rando barista friend.”

“Did you just call my dad _Philly Schuy_?” Eliza slid onto one of the bar stools, Peggy not too far behind. “No offense, but I don’t think you’re close enough to the family to be doing that.”

“Although I am,” Peggy said, pulling out her phone. “I’m changing his contact name right now.”

“And y’all,” John said, wiggling his finger from Lafayette to Herc to Lafayette again and then back to Herc, “need to stop taking all my fucking money.”

Herc shrugged. “Stop making bad bets, then.”

John put his hand to his heart like he was an old Southern lady and Herc had mortally offended him, and breathed out a huffing breath. “I could _never_.”

Peggy laughed and slid her drink across the bar. “Stop whining about your dumbass financial decisions and top me off, please.” John snatched the cup.

“Just ‘cause you said please.”

He turned around and headed towards the fridge, and Peggy caught Alex’s gaze, waggling her eyebrows at sixty miles an hour. She jerked her head at John, who had just bent over to grab the whole milk, and her eyebrow-waggling rate shot up to eighty.

“ _Shut up_ ,” he mouthed.

“ _Hit that_ ,” she mouthed back.

Eliza smacked her shoulder, she winked, and turned back in time to take her full drink from John’s outstretched hand. “Thank you, Mr. Laurens.”

“No fucking problem, Schuyler.”

“So Peggy thinks Herc would be in Hufflepuff if we all went to Hogwarts,” he said, quickly changing the subject before Peggy completely pulled the veil off of his already badly concealed crush on John. “That’s nuts, right? He’d totally be a Gryffindor.”

“That _is_ nuts,” Herc said, putting a hand to his chin like he was mulling it over. “Especially because I’d be in _Slytherin_ , bitch!”

John and Eliza yelled _“OHHHH!”_ at the very same time that Angelica ditched her laptop and joined them at the bar. She nudged Peggy.

“Where’d you put me?”

“Slytherin, remember?”

Angelica pondered this for a second. “Fair. I’ll take it.”

This dissolved into a round of Sorting Hat shenanigans, with John trying to put everyone into Gryffindor with him, and Herc defending his self-sorting into Slytherin ( _“Did you see the way I tricked Sam Seabury the other day? That’s conniving if I ever heard of it.”_ ). John topped off Peggy’s drink two more times as he and Alex took turns helping other customers.

At one point the two of them got into a heated debate (the merits of Gryffindor versus Slytherin), that had Peggy kicking his shin every few seconds as he and John inched closer and closer, arguing all the while. John kept making contact, pushing his shoulder, getting close enough that their noses almost touched while he was trying to make a point, nudging his shoulder to Alex’s. Eventually, he threw his hands into the air.

“I guess we’re just destined to be mortal enemies, then.”

“I guess so,” Alex agreed, and that was the end of that, and they settled back down to join in the rest of the group’s conversation, forearms leaning on the bar and shoulders touching. They stayed like that until John broke away to tend to a customer, and Alex’s entire arm burned where John’s had pressed into it.

His phone buzzed.

**Peggy S.**

PS: when are you gonna tell him???

AH: Peggy, I can’t yet. We have too much riding on this King stuff.

PS: ur drooling

AH: GOD. No more free drinks for you. 

But he thought about Peggy’s text long after he shoved his phone back into his pocket. He thought about it all throughout the rest of his shift at Libertea, he thought about it as he locked the door behind him and John and Herc and Lafayette, he thought about it as they walked home, ribbing John for losing thirty dollars on his bad bets and speculating what Washington’s old friends would be like when they came into the shop the next morning.

_I can’t live like this. I need to tell him. When am I going to tell him?_

Lafayette had brought home some bread he had baked earlier that day, and Herc dug a carton of soup he’d made a few days ago out of the freezer, and the four of them ate bread and soup and demolished a box of ice cream sandwiches John had bought the day before. The day had taken a toll on them all, and it was only eight thirty when they all collapsed around the small TV in their living room, halfheartedly heckling the screen as some _Keeping Up With The Kardashians_ rerun played. 

John slid off of the couch and onto the floor beside Alex, bringing a blanket with him, and draped half of it over Alex, keeping the rest for himself. 

Alex didn’t remember falling asleep, he only remembered John’s warmth next to him, and John’s breath tickling the side of his face, and John’s heartbeat thumping beside him, and John, and John, and John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Some of Washington's old friends come by the shop, and so does an old enemy.
> 
> (PSA: The Harry Potter sortings aren't my actual headcanons! I personally think that Burr's more of a Slytherin and Ham's more of a Gryffindor, but that's just me. All I'm saying is I'm open to hear what you guys think, too!)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	14. When I Was Young And Dreamed Of Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang gathers more testimonies, and something (or someone) threatens the future of Libertea.

The first thing Alex thought when Friedrich von Steuben walked into Sons of Libertea was how fast it would take him to get to the kitchen. The second thing was whether or not he could vault the counter without falling smack on his face, and if that would get him into the kitchen, and to safety, any faster. The third thing was that Steuben was walking right towards him, and those other two thoughts were useless.

Steuben (Alex had never seen him before, but there wasn’t anyone else it _could_ be) had broad shoulders, dark skin, and the most immediately intimidating air about him that Alex had ever felt. He didn’t have any military medals or adornments on his coat, but walked like they should be there.

He stopped right in front of Alex. Held out his hand.

“Friedrich von Steuben,” he said, a little unnecessarily in Alex’s opinion, because if anyone were to be Washington’s old war buddy, it would be him. Alex shook his hand. It was firm and warm.

“Alex Hamilton,” he managed to get out. “Washington hired me a few--”

“Steub!” Herc burst out of the kitchen and didn’t bother walking around the bar, instead vaulting himself over it, again, a little unnecessarily. He grabbed the other man in a bone-crushing, back-slapping hug, and the two of them did that for a while, Alex standing awkwardly in the background. “I can’t believe you came in for this, man. I can’t thank you enough!”

“Get me the biggest cup of coffee you got and we’ll call it even,” Steuben said, and Herc called back into the kitchen for John. The person that came through the swinging door wasn’t John, but Washington, and he and Steuben shared another hug of the same hard-slaps-on-the-back variety that Steuben and Herc had done. Alex didn’t know what was up with those hugs, and he didn’t really want to find out.

Washington took Steuben around the shop, pointing out everything that had changed since he’d seen it last (apparently more than a few years ago), and Alex joined the newly-emerged John behind the counter. 

“He’s pretty cool, right?” John asked as he grabbed one of their large cups and got to work filling it with coffee. “Scary as hell, but pretty cool.”

“Like me?” Alex asked with a side-grin in John’s direction. He rolled his eyes.

“You? Like _shit_.”

Washington beckoned Alex over to the big table, and he grabbed the coffee, mid-doodle, out of John’s hands to bring with him. Steuben grabbed it and took a grateful sip, nodding in Washington’s direction.

“Still excellent. Better than last time, even.”

“That’s all him,” Washington jerked a thumb in John’s direction. “Does something to that coffee that I’ve never been able to replicate.”

“You have a good team here, huh?” Steuben took another long drink. “Doing pretty well for yourself, George. Well, except for the whole landlord issue, but that’s why I’m here, right?”

He looked expectantly at Alex. Alex lifted the camera.

“All I need are a few sentences,” he said hurriedly. “I’m editing all this stuff together to show the bank, and getting your testimony would be awesome.” Steuben took a seat.

“Let’s get into it.”

Alex flipped open the camera, pressing a button to make the light blink green. “Ready when you are.”

Steuben cleared his throat. “I’ve known George for a very long time. We went through boot camp together, fought together. I watched him take control of our unit, rise in the ranks. I watched him get shot. I watched him get shot _twice_.”

He glanced over at Washington, quirking an eyebrow like it was an inside joke the two of them shared.

“And I was part of him starting up this shop here,” he continued, “however distant. I got the updates. Heard the successes, the failures, put my two cents in where I could. And while there have been some setbacks, this place is on the road to becoming something great.”

He paused and looked up at the ceiling briefly before going on. “George and the people he hires at Sons of Libertea are determined to do the best job to the fullest extent of their ability. I believe that, from the trenches to the streets of New York City.” He raised one cynical eyebrow at the camera, like he couldn’t believe he even needed to say anything.

Washington made a gesture and Alex shut off the camera. Steuben turned his gaze to him.

“Need another take? Or did you get what you need?”

Alex nodded. “I’m not really going for perfection, just sincere.”

Steuben nodded back and took a drink from his coffee cup. Washington sat down at the table with him, diving right back into conversation like this wasn’t even a reunion, like they got to see each other every day. As Steuben laughed at something Washington said, Alex put the camera safely on top of the microwave and leaned next to John on the counter.

“I caught a bit of that,” John said off-handedly. “That was nice, y’know, what he said about us.”

“I was expecting more scary,” Alex replied. “More gruff.”

“Hey, looks can be deceiving. You didn’t think I was a total badass when we first met, but here I am.”

Alex laughed almost as loudly as Steuben had. “Are you kidding? You, John Laurens, are the softest softie I have ever met in my entire life.” 

John came off the counter, getting right in Alex’s face. “You gotta be fuckin’ joking, Ham, I punched a dude for you once! Remember that shit?”

“See, punching people for your friends seems like a badass move, but in reality, it’s something softies do.” Alex poked John’s cheek. “Like you.”

John tried to bite Alex’s finger, but he moved it out of the way right in time. “I’m never making you a drink ever again.”

“Okay,” Alex said, taking a long sip of the drink he’d made for him at the beginning of the day. “You made me a large this morning ‘stead of a medium, so I’ll be good for the next few hours until we’re friends again.”

The cup doodle this time was a tree, the one that grew right outside of Libertea, and it had two old-timey birds sitting in the branches. It took up almost the whole cup, and Alex was pretty sure John had started drawing it before he’d even started his shift that morning. 

“I hate you,” John muttered, leaning back beside him, their elbows touching on the counter. “My drink-stealing shitty pre-law coworker roommate smartass shitface.”

“I hate _you_ ,” Alex shot back. “My face-punching barista coworker roommate asshole softie shitface.”

John grinned a brilliantly bright grin, nudging Alex’s shoulder with his shoulder. “We’re gonna do this, right? Save this place, I mean. I thought about what I’d do if we went under, and I’d just…” 

He paused. Tried again. “What I’m trying to say, I can’t do anything other than this. This place is my life, Alex, I’m not sure if I’ve said that or not before--”

“I know,” Alex butted in before John could continue, “and I think we have a shot. We have just as much of a shot as King, anyway, and our team has something to fight for. He’s going for revenge, right? Revenge and power. While we’ve got you, who loves this place almost as much as Washington. We’ve got Herc and his badass spy skills. We’ve got Laf, and Laf’s scones, and Laf’s cake pops. We’ve got me and my ancient laptop and my video editing program from the eighties.”

John laughed a little at that.

Alex nudged him in the same way he’d done earlier. “We _got_ this, Laurens. You and me.”

After a pause, John nodded. “You and me.”

Lafayette burst through the door with a tray of chocolate chip cookies, and the day continued. Washington and Steuben talked for another hour, fueled by cookies and another coffee refill. Angelica came in, laptop in hand and headphones on (Alex got a quick smile and nod of greeting before she camped out at a small table by the window with her latte and a cookie Lafayette passed her, the first thing Alex had ever seen Lafayette give someone for free). Herc went out for his lunch break and came back with Peggy, both of them holding drinks from Chipotle, and Peggy took Burr’s normal seat at the bar.

(Herc claimed they’d ran into each other at the restaurant and decided to walk back to Libertea together, but John just said _“suuuuuuure”_ , and Alex gave him the best eyebrow-raise-with-crossed-arms that he could muster.)

Close to noon, after John had taken his break and Steuben had clapped Washington on the back, promised to come around more often, and left, Franklin walked in. Alex had never seen him before, but there was no doubt who he was. He was shorter than Steuben, walked with a polished wood-and-silver cane, and sported a crushed velvet blazer and a black fedora with a few aged papers stuck in the band.

“ _Bonjour_!” he bellowed, startling a few of their customers by the window. Angelica didn’t even look up. Alex was pretty sure he could hear her headphones blasting Chance The Rapper from where he was standing. “Good morning!”

Lafayette burst out of the kitchen and went to embrace the older man. “Monsieur Franklin, _mon Dieu, content de te voir_!”

“It’s good to see you as well, Monsieur du Motier,” Franklin said, leaning back and kissing Lafayette’s left cheek, and then his right, and then again on the left for good measure. “Monsieur Laurens, I see you hiding over there, get over here and get what’s coming.”

John rolled his eyes good-naturedly, heading over to Franklin, who embraced him the same way he did Lafayette, like a grandfather with his grandchildren. Herc tried to get away with a salute from across the shop, but even he was soon pulled into a hug. As Franklin leaned back, he locked eyes with Alex.

“And who’s this?” he asked, half to Herc, half to Alex, and then called over. “ _Quel est votre nom_?” 

_What is your name._ Alex paused. Was this some sort of test? Was he supposed to give a straight answer, or should he go the opposite way?

“ _Après vous, invité d'honneur,_ ” he replied. _After you, guest of honor_. 

Franklin let out a loud chuckle and pointed at Alex.

“I like you.”

Alex grinned back. “I’m Alex Hamilton. Mr. Washington hired me a few weeks ago.”

“Nice to meet you, Monsieur Hamilton. I’m assuming you’ve heard all about me from your coworkers here.” He nudged Lafayette in the ribs and shook John’s shoulder a little. “And if you haven’t, let me fill you in. I met George years ago, when he and Martha first moved--”

“Hold on,” Alex interrupted, grabbing the camera off of the microwave and turning it on. “Okay, go.”

Franklin took his hat off ran a hand over his shaved head before looking at the camera. “I met George when he and Martha, his fiancée at the time, moved to the city. I was working as a lender at the time, and when George approached me with the idea for this shop and a logo drawn up by his neighbor, a Mrs. Ross--” Alex’ didn’t miss John’s grin in the background. He ignored his urge to focus the lens on John, and continued watching Franklin.

“--and I was completely taken over by his passion. I backed the project, and even after I got out of banking and into agriculture, and from there into foreign affairs, and from there into retirement--” Alex almost whistled. What _hadn’t_ Franklin done? “--and as I followed the shop, as I met the young people he hired to help run it, I know one thing. I made a good decision all those years ago. And I would make it again.”

Alex shut off the camera as John actually did whistle. 

“Damn, I didn’t know you helped back Mr. Washington at the beginning.”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know, John.” Franklin winked as Washington came back into the shop, laughing loudly and clapping Franklin on the shoulder in greeting. 

“Ben, I can’t believe you actually showed. What are you doing now? I know you say you’re retired, but I don’t believe that for a second.” Franklin gave Washington a sly look.

“What do you say you give me a cup of coffee and I’ll tell all in your office. I don’t think my recent adventures are… Suitable… For young ears.”

“Hey!” John protested. Franklin raised an eyebrow, returning his hat to his head.

“I don’t want to hear it. You’re what, John, twenty-three?”

“Twenty-one,” John muttered. Franklin threw his hands up into the air.

“That’s even worse!”

John rolled his eyes and retreated back behind the bar, and soon enough, two large coffees hurtled down the counter to meet them. One star on Washington’s, his third cup of the day, and a large turkey drawn on Franklin’s.

“Does this mean something, Monsieur Laurens?”

“It means you’re a big fuckin’ turkey, Ben!”

Franklin laughed and headed upstairs with Washington. Alex heard the beginning of the story as they ascended the staircase to the office, and he was suddenly glad that they hadn’t stuck around downstairs.

“So that’s a testimony, then,” Peggy piped up from her spot in the corner where the counter met the wall. “That was incredible. That one, plus the one my dad gave you, has got to be enough to prove to those bank guys this place is worth investing in.”

“I’m not done yet,” Alex said, squeezing past John behind the counter, camera still in hand. He pointed it at Peggy. “In five, four, three, two....”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“Nope,” Alex said, “we’re getting some from customers, too. And since you’re a regular--”

“Since about a week and a half ago!”

“Good enough. And… Go!”

She let out a huge sigh, but fixed her hair, ran a finger under both eyes, and ducked under the counter to apply a new coat of red lipstick. “How do I do this thing?”

“Say your name--”

“Peggy Schuyler.”

“No, wait for me to finish! Just say why you like the place, okay?”

“My name’s Peggy Schuyler,” she said to the camera, “and I came to Libertea because Starbucks has a bunch of rat shit, according to my sister. The end.”

Angelica came up behind her. “That’s true.”

Alex blew out a heavy breath. “Come _on_ , guys!”

“You owe me a free drink,” Angelica said, taking a seat beside Peggy. “All right, Lime-A-Rita, are we doing this?”

Peggy _hmm_ ed like she was in the middle of a deep moral quandary. “It _would_ help them out… We _are_ the most fashionable and probably the coolest people in New York.” Angelica nodded along with her as John gagged in the background and Herc drew a finger across his own neck.

“The smartest, the wittiest…”

“Basically the greatest people in the world.”

Angelica turned to Alex, who still had the camera running. “We’ll help you.”

“Oh, wow, _thanks_.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled a bright white smile at the camera. “My name is Angelica Schuyler, and this is my sister--”

“Peggy!”

“And we came to Sons of Libertea the other day looking for a good cup of coffee because of the health code violations at the Starbucks down the street.”

“Fuck you, Starbucks!”

Angelica slipped up at that, grinning over her shoulder at Peggy. “We found what we were looking for here. The coffee’s good, the atmosphere is nice --I actually got a lot of work done here, which never happens anywhere else besides my own apartment-- but that’s not what I mean.”

She looked back at Peggy again, and then back at the camera.

“My family’s selective,” she continued, “I mean, more than selective about the people we hang out with. Basically, we don’t have a lot of friends. By choice.”

“We started coming here and got four friends in a day,” Peggy butted in, leaning onto Angelica’s stool. “Our other sister, Eliza, she never gets guys’ numbers, and she has Alex’s number and John’s--”

“And I think Peggy snapchats Herc Mulligan more than she does me,” Angelica added.

Peggy blushed at that, cheeks turning apple red. “Shut up, Ang, fuck!” 

“Eliza has John’s number?” Alex tried to get in, but Peggy interrupted him.

“Well _Angelica_ has been texting some dude, too, but she won’t tell me who the fuck it is--”

“Who’d you go to Chipotle with today?” Angelica turned away from the camera. “It wasn’t me, even though I asked if you wanted to go!”

“That was a _coincidence_ \--”

“There are no coincidences in life, Peggy Schuyler, only--”

“Only destined experiences,” Peggy finished. “I know! I read your e-mails!”

Angelica gave a very dignified eye-roll, turning her back on her sister and facing the camera again. “ _Anyway_ \--”

“I turned the camera off,” Alex said, shrinking a little when Angelica gave him a withering look. “I thought you guys were done”

“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes again, “where’s that free drink you promised me?”

John shuffled past Alex to the espresso machine, whipping up one of Peggy’s drinks (still lovingly called the _Mocha Shitstorm_ around the shop), and a large coffee for Angelica. He doodled on their cups as he waited, a lipstick smudge for Angelica, and a puppy for Peggy, as usual. He slid the finished product across the bar.

“There you go,” he said, “you singlehandedly saved us.”

Angelica glared as she grabbed her drink and sipped away. “You don’t know how to function without us.”

John elbowed Alex in the ribs. “Remember Lee? He used to say shit like that, except he’d really mean it.”

“Who says I don’t mean it?” Angelica asked.

The bell jangled as Eliza entered the shop, denim jacket on over a blush pink dress, purse slung over her shoulder and someone keeping the door open for her-- 

“Burr?” Alex asked loudly across the general babble of the shop. Burr’s hands were full of flowers; a bouquet of sunflowers, at least two dozen red roses, tiny white fluffy things, a whole bunch of green. Eliza had a small sunflower tucked into her sock bun and another few sticking out of her purse.

“What the hell?” Peggy asked. “You and _Burr_?”

Eliza laughed her musical laugh. “Yeah, right. Sorry, Aaron.”

Burr shrugged, dumping his flower haul all over the main counter. John sneezed.

“We bumped into each other at the florist’s two streets over,” he explained. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and Eliza apparently worked in a flower shop before college, so she said she’d help me out.”

Eliza pulled two clear vases out of the shopping bag on her arm and handed it across the counter to Alex. “Can you fill those up, please? Burr said I could keep any flowers I don’t use in his arrangement, so I got a vase for myself.”

Alex took the vases to the sink in the corner, calling over his shoulder as he filled them. “So what’s this, Aaron? Finally making a move?”

“None of your business, Alexander.” Burr paused. “Actually, she’s coming to spend the weekend at my apartment. Prevost’s away on some business for King down South, so she’s a free woman for a few nights.”

It was quiet for a few seconds.

“That’s fucked up,” John said.

“Bro,” Herc said, and Alex heard the unmistakable sound of Herc’s shoe hitting John’s leg. 

“Fuck that,” John said, “she’s _engaged_. Cheaters suck ass, Burr, they’re the worst people in the world. Okay, not _really,_ but come on. I’m telling you this as a friend. Stop being a dick.”

“You don’t think I want to do this the right way?” Burr shot back. “I’m doing the best I can.”

John made a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. “Sure you are.”

“This is definitely going to come back and bite you in the ass,” Peggy agreed. Angelica crossed her arms.

“I disagree.”

“Thank you,” Burr said. 

“That doesn’t mean I agree with _you_ ,” Angelica continued. “Or her, whoever she is. You’re both cheating, and that’s physically repulsive to me. That doesn’t mean I think it’s going to blow up in your face. People don’t always get the comeuppance they deserve.”

“Thank you so much, Ms. Schuyler.” Burr rolled his eyes. Angelica quirked an eyebrow.

“Anytime you need it, Mr. Burr.”

Eliza took the filled vases out of Alex’s hands, stole a pair of scissors from the jar behind the counter, and went to work, stripping the flowers of their leaves, extra stems, and thorns, placing them into color-coordinated piles. As Peggy, Angelica, and Burr continued to sling insults in the background, she pointed out different flowers to Alex, John, and Herc, telling them the name and her personal opinion on it.

“Baby’s breath,” she said, pointing at the white fluffs. “Pretty, good filler, smells like crap when there’s a bunch of them in one place.” Alex laughed.

“Good to know.”

John stole a sprig of baby’s breath and weaved it through the holes of Alex’s hair net. “There. It’s you as a flower. Pretty fuckin’ good looking, and it’s shit when there’s too much of you.”

“Wow, screw you!” Alex threw a pile of Eliza’s discarded leaves and stems at his face. Herc laughed, grabbed one of the roses, snipped most of the stem off, and slipped it into the breast pocket of his apron. Eliza gave Alex a sunflower for his apron pocket, she clipped a sprig of a pink flower she called _alstroemeria_ for John, and as Lafayette emerged from the kitchen with a fresh batch of scones, she slipped two daisies into his pocket.

They continued to work; John and Alex gave drinks and took money over Eliza and her pile of flowers as she held a bouquet in her hand, turning it and adding more flowers, making it grow into a perfect sphere. As soon as she was finished she measured it against the vase, clipped the stems, and settled it into the water, fluffing the flowers to make them really stand out.

She added greens and small sprigs of baby’s breath until she turned it to see every side, satisfied. Burr took it and scrutinized it until he smiled. 

“She’s going to love it, Thank you, Eliza.”

She smiled back. “Be careful, Aaron.”

Burr left with his flowers and an Americano, and Eliza and John cleaned up the stems and leaves scattered around the counter as Herc swept the floor. She quickly dressed the other flowers up into another bouquet, sticking it into the other vase as her sisters waited by the door. 

“When’s the big meeting?” she asked. John lifted both hands, showing off his crossed fingers.

“Tomorrow!”

“Text me the verdict,” she said, and who she was talking to was unclear. Lafayette poked his head over the counter.

“Come by tomorrow night,” he said, “seven o’clock. Washington said we’re having something then, it’s either going to be a really depressing meeting or a total party, depending on the verdict.”

“Come!” Alex said. Eliza nodded.

“We’ll try and swing by. Tell Washington I said break a leg!”

She left the shop after Angelica and Peggy, but ran back in almost immediately. She set the arrangement on the counter between John and Alex, grinning up at them both, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling.

“For you guys. For your apartment. A little good luck charm. I hope everything goes well tomorrow; actually, I hope it goes better than well. I hope you guys blow them away!” She blew five consecutive kisses, one for Alex, one for John, one for Lafayette, one for Herc, and one towards the ceiling of the shop, and then she was gone, bells jangling in her wake.

John looked down at the flowers. “I can’t believe I hated her once.”

“You hated _Eliza Schuyler_?”

He pointed a finger at Alex. “See? That. That’s why.”

They started their closing routine as Washington and Franklin came back downstairs, both laughing at something Franklin had said. Washington grabbed a broom as Franklin hugged Lafayette and John again and headed for the door, calling back over his shoulder at Washington to give him a call if the bank gave him any problems, and the door shut again.

Alex looked over at his boss. “That went _awesome_.”

Washington looked at the door of Libertea, a soft, vulnerable look in his usually closed-off eyes. “I have no doubt that tomorrow is going to go well. No doubt at all.”

Herc flipped the sign on the door to _CLOSED_ right as someone muscled his way into the shop, making the bells go wild. Herc turned back around, broom in his hand like a sword. 

“Hey, man, I don’t know if you saw the sign, but we’re closed--”

Samuel Seabury crossed his arms disdainfully. “I know your hours.”

“Than get the fuck out!” John called from behind the counter. Alex snickered and Washington walked forward, a few steps that had Seabury taking a few steps of his own back towards the door. 

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I’m here to deliver a message,” Seabury said, his haughty demeanor a little shaken by Washington’s presence. “From my employer, the esteemed George King the--”

“I get it.”

“He says the best of luck at your meeting tomorrow,” Seabury continued, “even though _our_ meeting, one that just ended, went very well--”

“Your meeting?” Washington interrupted again. “You don’t have a meeting. _You’re_ not trying to apply for a loan. What the hell are you going on about?”

“It has been brought to Mr. King’s attention that this place is dangerous,” Seabury said, confidence growing as Washington got more and more antsy. “We had a very special character witness--”

“Witness? Who?”

“I wonder,” Seabury said, eyes gleaming, as the door opened and Charles Lee entered Libertea for the first time since John punched him in the face. He looked almost anxious, wringing his hands together and standing behind Seabury. Washington took another step forward.

“ _Lee_?”

“That’s right,” Seabury returned, drawing himself up to his full height, which was just a little higher than Washington’s shoulder. “This man--”

“You ruined my life!” Lee spat, coming out from behind Seabury and leering at Washington. His eye was still black and blue, even though it had been over a week since John had punched him. He pointed at his eye, and then at John. “ _That_ jackass did _this_ to me!”

“There’s no fucking way his eye’s still bruised,” Herc thundered from behind Washington. “You’re faking it, aren’t you, you bastard? Anyone can make a fucking black eye with some makeup and--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Seabury butted in, stepping in front of Lee once more. “I think the loan officers down at the bank bought it. We were… Very convincing.” 

“And they know all about _him_ ,” Lee snarled, pointing again, more forcibly this time, at John. Alex fought the urge to step in front of him, even though protecting him like a bulletproof shield was the only thing he wanted to do. “They know how dangerous and erratic he is. No one wants to go to a family-friendly place when the head barista is known for random acts of _violence_.”

“You had it coming, you dick!” Alex yelled from the counter right as both Lafayette and Herc also said loud, aggressive things that he couldn’t hear over his own loud, aggressive thing. Washington held up one hand.

“What do you mean to accomplish by all of this?”

Lee crossed his arms. “I still think you have a shot with the bank. You can keep this shithole open. But not while he’s working here.”

He glared past Washington, past Lafayette, past Herc, past Alex, and right at John.

Washington breathed out one heavy, disbelieving breath. “You want me to fire John Laurens.”

“I want you to fire John Laurens. I want you to throw John Laurens out onto the road. I want you to ban John Laurens from ever setting foot on your property.” He tilted his chin to look right into Washington’s face. “Just like you did to me.”

“Hell no!” Alex heard Lafayette yell.

“You’re out of your fucking mind!” Alex heard Herc yell.

“FUCK YOU!” Alex heard himself yell, his entire body trembling with rage, the corners of his vision going white and his hands clenched into the tightest fists he could make. The only other thing he was intrinsically aware of was John, the color drained out of his cheeks, supporting himself with both hands on the counter.

“Get out of my store,” Washington said, his quiet, authoritative voice immediately making Lee back off, turning tail and heading right out the door. Seabury followed, slower, and turned to make one last comment.

“While it still is yours.”

The door closed. Washington turned. Ran a hand over his head.

“This is fucking insane, right?” Herc said, ripping off his apron and throwing it behind the counter. The broom clattered to the ground, unused. “This is not fucking happening, right?”

“It’s not happening, Mr. Mulligan,” Washington said slowly, tasting every word in his mouth before he spoke them. “Mr. Laurens is a valuable part of our team. Either we all go down together, or not at all.”

A flood of relief swept through Alex’s heart. He clapped one hand on John’s shoulder, who still looked shell-shocked. 

“It’s okay,” he said.

John shook off his hand.

“I quit.”

“Fuck no!” Herc bellowed, and Washington whipped around, his glare cutting like a knife.

“I don’t accept that.”

“I quit!” John repeated. “If that’s what it takes to save everything else, I’m doing it!” 

“You’re not quitting,” Alex said, and John squeezed his eyes shut, running his hands through his curls, ripping off his ever-present hair net and letting it drop to the ground. 

“I can’t lose this place.”

“And we can’t lose you!”

John looked at Washington. “If you want me gone, if you want to win tomorrow, guaranteed, I’ll walk out that door right now without a fight and I’ll never come back here again. For you. For Libertea.”

Washington walked around the bar and laid a hand on John’s trembling shoulder. “It’s not coming to that, son.”

“Then what’s it coming to? You heard Lee, those loan guys think I’m an awful person, they think you hired me and I go around punching people! And I _did_ that, I _did_ punch Lee, that was me. I can’t let my mistake be the reason this place gets fucking burned to the ground!”

Alex clenched his fists, nails digging into the palms of his hands, and made for the door. He swerved around John and Washington, dodged Herc, ducked past Lafayette. He was deaf to their protests, Herc asking where he was going, Washington demanding he stay and help them talk this through.

He hadn’t even grabbed his coat, and the bitter cold New York wind nipped at his bare arms as he bolted up the street, not knowing where he was going, and not caring, either. All he knew was John was upset, all he cared about was John not being upset anymore, all he wanted was John to smile and make coffee and be _happy_.

His brain churned as he kept walking, arms crossed against the cold.

His brain churned as he let himself into the apartment, stripped right there in the hallway, jumped into the shower, and let the pounding jets slowly wash the day off of him.

His brain churned as he stared at the blinking red light of his video camera and the blank screen of his laptop. 

He opened his video editing software. He plugged the camera into the dock.

He didn’t get any sleep for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: The fate of the shop is decided during the meeting at the bank!
> 
> Headcanon casting: Idris Elba as Baron Friedrich von Steuben, and Samuel L. Jackson as Benjamin Franklin. Also, I used to be a florist, so I gave that to Eliza as sort of a self-indulgence :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	15. The World Turned Upside Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting at the bank.

Alex's alarm clock was set for ten in the morning, but his eyes were open by six. The last thing he remembered was his clock blinking, the taunting red numbers reminding him that it was four in the morning and he'd spent the whole night hunched over his computer before passing out. 

_Two hours of sleep,_ he thought to himself as he dug through the folded clothes at the foot of his sofa bed, hoping to find something worthy for the meeting at the bank later. _I've run on less. I'll be fine._

Punctuating that, he yawned. 

He smoothed his best button-up shirt over the arm of the couch, and headed to the bathroom. After showering quickly, he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and ducked into the kitchen, poured a bowl of some health cereal Herc had stashed on top of the fridge, and took it into the living room. About fifteen minutes into an episode of _How I Met Your Mother,_ and halfway through his breakfast, John slouched in and collapsed on the other end of his couch. 

He groaned. When Alex didn't respond, he groaned again. When Alex didn't respond to _that,_ he flipped over so that his head was resting on Alex’s legs, leaning his head back and looking at him mournfully. 

“My life is fucking over.” 

Alex absentmindedly ran a hand through John’s untied hair as he munched on a bite of cereal. “Because of the whole King thing?”

“No, because Laf ate my last fudge sundae PopTart. _Of course because of the King thing!_ ”

He paused. 

“Actually, the PopTart thing was pretty damn heartbreaking, too.”

He shifted under Alex's hand into a more comfortable position, leaning back and yawning a little bit. He'd just come from the shower as well, but Alex ignored the water soaking through the leg of his sweatpants in order to continue raking his fingers through John’s wet curls. 

“It's going to be fine.” 

At that, John sat up, knocking his hand aside and flipping over until he was basically in Alex’s lap, looking up at him with his wide brown eyes, the constellation splash of freckles across his nose directly in Alex’s line of vision. 

“How can you say that and be sure?”

Alex shrugged, more than a little taken aback by John's brash intrusion of his personal space. He _liked_ it, but having John’s warm body sprawled across his legs was distracting, to say the least. 

“Washington seems pretty sure of himself, right? I trust him.”

John flipped back over with a groan just as loud and forlorn as the first two had been. “I still think I should just quit. Get the whole damn thing over with.”

“And what’ll that do?” Alex sat up straight, pushing John off of him. Normally he would've rather died than lose the close contact they'd cultivated on the sofa, but this was a bigger deal than just copping a snuggle or two. “If you're gone, the shop just goes under in a month or so anyway, you know that, right? It all works together. If you leave, we all might as well, too.”

John slid dramatically from the sofa to the rug on the floor. 

“This _sucks!_ ”

Alex fidgeted on the couch, out of John’s line of vision. He had no idea if his plan would work; he had no idea if his plan would even make things better. There was a huge chance that his plan could make things exponentially worse. And he had no idea what to say to John, who looked as miserable as Alex had ever seen him, his wet hair plastered down over his eyes, laying on his back in the middle of Lafayette’s byzantine rug. 

He said the only thing he knew how, and slid onto the floor next to John. 

“It's _shit._ ”

John huffed out a short breath that might have been a laugh, and flung his legs over Alex’s. 

“Shit or not, we’ll always be roommates. I don't know if Laf has an inheritance or what, but at least our rent’ll always be paid.”

They laid on the floor like that for a while, Alex's legs splayed on the rug with John's on top. 

“Tell me about yourself,” Alex said suddenly, smacking at John's arm when he started laughing. “What?”

“I thought we were past the whole speed-dating part of our friendship, Ham. You _know_ me. John Henry Laurens, twenty-one, South Carolina born, streets of NYC raised. Cool as hell. Ruins everything good he touches.”

Alex hit John again. 

“I'm trying to keep your mind _off_ of that shit, John. And _Henry_? Really?”

“What can I say? My dad sucks at naming kids and he also sucks at not kicking them out of his house.”

“Okay, no more dad talk and no more Libertea talk, okay?” Alex, under the hopefully inconspicuous guise of getting more comfortable, wiggled ever closer to John. “Tell me… Your favorite color.”

“Really.”

“Come on, you dipshit, I'm trying to make the time go faster. It'll be bank-o-clock before you know it.” 

John paused briefly before: “Green.”

“What?”

“My favorite color. It's green.”

“Like, what kind of green? You're an artist, you gotta do better than that.”

“Okay.” John maneuvered until the top of his head was almost pressing against Alex's left ear, which made an L shape with both of their bodies. “Picture this. You're on a boat. Like, not a shitty boat, but a really nice fuckin’ boat. You go out on the ocean in your nice fuckin’ boat, and you're fishing or whatever people do on boats, and the sun is shining, clouds are fluffy, and everything's all good. There are some waves, but nothing your nice fuckin’ boat can't handle. And then comes along a bigger one, like big enough that you're kinda nervous, and right before it breaks, sunlight streams through it and all you see is green.”

He leaned back, and Alex turned his head, and their eyes met. 

“That's the kind of green I like.”

Alex nudged John's forehead with his cheek. “Normal people would just call that sea green.”

“Normal people fucking suck.”

Alex laughed and brushed a piece of hair off of his forehead before continuing. “Uh, what's your favorite food?”

“Mrs. Ross’s empanadas.” When Alex looked over at him, he explained. “She makes them sometimes for her shows. Those sons of bitches are incredible, I'll bring you home some next time I go.”

Alex shrugged, which felt a little weird laying on the floor. “I could come with you next time you go.”

He watched John’s eyebrow raise. “You could.”

Before he could answer, Lafayette burst out of his bedroom, half-dressed in suit pants, socks, and not much else. He pointed a threatening finger at both John and Alex.

“We’re leaving in a _half hour_ and you two aren’t even _dressed--_ ”

“C’mon, Laf, didn’t I tell you?” John made an all-encompassing gesture at his entire outfit, which consisted of basketball shorts and a black tanktop with pink block letters spelling out _SUN’S OUT, GUNS OUT_. “This is what I’m wearing today. I’m sure those bank guys’ll love me.”

Lafayette made a disgusted noise and spun back around, slamming his door right as John laughed. Alex laughed with him, happy that he was at least able to make jokes, even though he was sure that anxiety was still eating away at him. It sure was eating away at Alex, crawling through his veins and settling deep in the pit of his stomach, and he did his best to ignore it as they untangled themselves on the floor and retreated to their separate rooms.

He pulled on his best pair of jeans, tucked his dress shirt in as best as he could, and looped his only tie (it was skinny and green, and he’d bought it for job interviews the second day he’d moved to New York. He’d never worn it). He pulled his mostly-dry hair back into a hopefully acceptable ponytail, put on some of the cologne he’d borrowed from Herc, and went back into the living room.

John came back out as well, right as he was washing off his cereal bowl. John’s hair was dry and loose, hanging in tight curls around his face, and he was wearing a blue suit, white shirt, and a deep maroon tie. Alex threw a dishtowel at him.

“What the hell, Laurens!”

“ _What?_ ”

“You really want to impress these guys, huh?”

John rolled his eyes and whipped the towel back at him as Herc and Lafayette came from opposite ends of the apartment. Lafayette’s hair was tied back and his black suit jacket and pants were offset by a light blue dress shirt and a white bow tie. Herc was more casual, which Alex was grateful for, in maroon pants, a grey button-up shirt, and a tie that was covered in his own embroidery. He looked at Alex.

“You got the stuff?”

Alex hefted his backpack. In it was the laptop and two thumbdrives; one had all of the edited testimonies, the other held the project that had kept him up all night long. Washington, Herc, and the rest of his roommates knew about the first. No one knew about the second. 

Lafayette turned in a semi-circle, taking stock of the three of them. When he was apparently satisfied with their collective look as a group, he gestured at the door. “Ready?”

Alex’s answer to that question was an overwhelming _no_ , but Herc was already at the door, John behind him, and Alex found that his feet hadn’t listened to the rest of his body, and followed John out of the door. Lafayette shut it behind them, and silently, almost mournfully, the four of them left the apartment, and walked down the mid-afternoon New York streets.

Right before they took the turn for Libertea, Alex’s phone buzzed. Three pictures had made it through. All three looked to have been taken right as they were leaving the apartment; Alex was wearing the same clothes in each picture.

One of him and John, foreheads almost touching as they laughed at something on John’s phone.

One of him and John, trying to trip each other as they walked.

One of him and John, not even looking at each other as they made their way down the street, but looking at peace and sublimely happy.

It was the same contact that had sent him pictures of his Starbucks outing with Eliza the previous week and had never returned his questioning text. He deleted the pictures just like he’d done with the other ones, slipping his phone back into his pocket right as they met Washington outside of Libertea.

A woman stood with Washington, and Alex recognized her immediately from the pictures on his boss’ office wall. The top of Martha Washington’s head barely grazed her husband’s shoulder, but she stood with a commanding authority equal to his. There was a reusable shopping bag slung over her shoulder, and she waved at them as they made their way down the street.

Lafayette was the first to reach them, and he hugged Martha as Alex and the others caught up. He was explaining the layout of Libertea’s kitchen when they joined the group, and Martha moved aside to welcome them into the circle.

“I’m making some food for tonight,” she explained as Herc gave her a sideways hug. “I figured no matter the verdict, the five of you can come back here and have something to enjoy.”

John craned his neck over Herc’s shoulder. “Fudge?”

Martha grinned and rattled her shopping bag. “I have the ingredients right here.” 

It was almost too quick to catch, but Alex saw John and Herc bump fists behind her back. As a collective, they turned to Washington, who radiated sternness and silence even more so than usual. He bent to kiss his wife on the cheek, she whispered something in his ear to which he cracked a smile (and Alex filed it away in his brain in case the events of the day went badly), and, as a collective five, they turned away from Libertea and towards Versailles Bank.

•••

“Now, Mr. Washington.”

There were two loan officers who had welcomed their group of five into a spacious office. The first, who had introduced himself as Jean-Baptiste Rochambeau, was the only one to have talked so far. The other, assumedly his boss, had been introduced by Rochambeau as Louis Capet. They were both in pressed suits, they both sat on the opposing side of the desk, and they both were scrutinizing their group with equally cutting stares.

“You have come to apply for a loan,” Rochambeau continued, but paused as Louis tapped on the pile of papers in front of the two officers. “You have _already_ applied for a loan. You are here to argue charges pressed against you, charges that might implicate the process.”

“It came to my attention that George King has been attempting to slander the name of my shop,” Washington replied, and Alex didn’t miss the way his hands tensed or the way his eyebrow arched slightly before laying flat again. “I have come here to dismiss those charges and to hear your final verdict.”

Louis nodded. After glancing at him, Rochambeau nodded as well.

“You have looked through my books, my recorded sales,” Washington continued. “But integrity and standing within a community are harder to prove. My employees--” he pointed at them and introduced them one by one “--John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, Gilbert du Motier, and Alexander Hamilton have done their best to prove it for me.”

He beckoned Alex forward.

Ignoring the steady _thump thump_ of his heart behind his ribs and the tickle of his ponytail on the back of his neck, Alex sat in the only other chair in front of the desk. He took Lafayette’s iPad out of his backpack, plugged the first thumbdrive in, and pulled up the video. Setting the device on a stand, he maneuvered it so that both Louis and Rochambeau could see it, while the rest of them had a view, as well.

He hit _play._

The first person on screen was Mrs. Ross. It opened with her laughing, pointing at the Libertea sign right outside the shop. 

“ _I designed that, you know!_ ” Her voice rang throughout the room, full of pride and joy. She went on to talk about her first encounter with Washington, the first drink she ever had at Libertea, how welcomed and at home she felt each time she entered the shop. Alex was aware of John fidgeting behind him.

“I thought she said something about me,” he whispered to Lafayette. “Why isn’t that in there?”

“ _Shh,_ ” Lafayette hushed him. The video played on. 

Mr. Schuyler was next, and Alex didn’t miss how both of the lending officers straightened up in their seats as he entered the screen. They nodded along with his entire testimony, like they’d gain his approval just by agreeing with his on-screen self. Alex made a mental note to buy Eliza the biggest bouquet of flowers he could afford if they made it out of this alive.

Eliza herself came on next. He’d grabbed her testimony while they walked back to the shop after he’d filmed her dad’s, and she was wearing her classic rope of pearls and her long hair was windblown and perfect. Her poise and diction was impeccable, and the glowing praise she heaped on both Washington and Libertea almost made Alex blush, even watching it back later. Peggy was next (he’d needed to cut most of her testimony, but a few good, non-explicit words made their way through), and Angelica’s was short, brusque, and to the point.

Both of the lending officers were fully engaged, eyes locked on the screen, and Alex chanced a look over at Washington. His eyes were on the iPad as well, and didn’t look anywhere but.

Franklin’s testimony came on after Angelica’s, and Louis spoke up.

“Is that _Benjamin Franklin?_ ”

“Yes,” Washington said, and both men resumed watching. Alex heard the soft, unmistakable sound of Lafayette and Herc low-fiving. 

Franklin’s testimony was just as impressive watching it a third, fourth, or fifth time (Alex had lost count while editing), and it didn’t help that Steuben’s booming affirmation of Libertea came right after. He felt his nose getting hot and fought the urge to wipe a finger under his right eye. He heard Lafayette’s muffled sniffle behind him, and hid a smile.

The video ended with a shot of Libertea from the outside, Washington scrubbing a soapy sponge over the windows and the colonial flag flying in the breeze. Customers milled inside the shop, and the screen went black.

Alex didn’t take the iPad away, and Louis steepled his fingers on the desk.

“Well, gentlemen, this was certainly impressive. I don’t think we’ve ever had a video performance at one of our loan meetings, and certainly never one so… Star-studded?” He glanced at Rochambeau, who nodded. “I thought Ben Franklin was in France?”

Alex looked back at Lafayette, who raised and dropped one shoulder. “He was.”

Both sets of lender eyebrows raised. Rochambeau even let out a low whistle.

“The standing of your shop is undisputable,” Louis went on. “The sound byte you included in your files, the one of King’s own employee claiming this to be a personal matter--” Alex shot a subtle thumbs-up in Herc’s direction “--is damning in it of itself. The only thing we worry about is something that came to light in a meeting with King’s staff yesterday; the matter of one John Laurens. I believe he is one of your employees here with us today?”

Washington stood, beckoning John to take his seat, which he did, fingers weaving together and apart, together and apart.

“Morning,” he said, looking from one loan officer to the other. “I’m John.”

“Is it true, Mr. Laurens, that you had a physical altercation on Mr. Washington’s property, one that you instigated and perpetuated?”

In the heartbeat of time before John answered, Alex reached over and gave his trembling hand the quickest, gentlest squeeze. John’s chest rose and fell with a staggering breath.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then the ultimatum we shared with King’s employee still stands.” Louis looked up at Washington. “Your chance with us will be ultimately, _significantly_ lower as long as you keep this man on your staff.”

“Hold on,” Alex jumped in. Immediately, all eyes in the room shifted to him. He looked at Louis, held his piercing gaze, and reached for the other thumb drive in his bag. “ The guy that made those charges, Charles Lee, was terrible. He badmouthed Washington all the time, he made it hard for us to do our jobs. He had it coming.”

“Son,” Washington said, his voice warning from behind John. 

Alex hurriedly continued. “I have a couple of other testimonies. I don’t know if they’ll help anything, but maybe they’ll change your mind.”

For the second time that afternoon, intrinsically aware of all eyes on him and John’s tensed shoulder flush against his own, he pressed _play._

The first person on screen was Washington, in his clothes from the previous night, after they’d all locked up Libertea.

“You want me to talk about Mr. Laurens?” he asked, and then shrugged. “I hired John a few years ago, almost right after we opened the shop. The first few months of his employment were hard. He didn’t care about anyone except himself, he was constantly running his mouth, and he had no idea how to live on his own. But he made --still makes-- the best damn cup of coffee on the coast.”

On-screen Washington raised one eyebrow and laughed a little to himself. “Despite everything, hiring John Laurens was the best decision I have ever made for Sons Of Libertea.”

Parts of Mrs. Ross’s original testimony played right after that, praising John, his coffee, and the entire shop again. Shots Alex had taken of John flickered intermittently through, him laughing at Mrs. Ross, grinning his white-tooth grin right at the camera, scooping coffee, filtering water through the machine. 

Right after a particularly great shot of him on his hands and knees, working a tough stain out of the floor, Peggy and Eliza came on screen, Peggy’s arm around her sister’s waist. John was in the background, heckling.

“Y’all better not be talking about me!”

Peggy flashed a grin at the camera. “He loves it when we talk about him.”

Eliza smiled too, looking down at her sister. “John’s pretty great. He’s welcoming.”

Peggy nodded. “Part of the reason we keep coming back here, honestly. He makes the best damn mocha [EXPLETIVE DELETED] I’ve ever had. Seriously, if you’re in the area, try the mocha [EXPLETIVE DELETED]. I [EXPLETIVE DELETED] love it.”

A shot of Alex sticking the camera through the kitchen window was next. Alex heard his own voice calling back from behind the lens.

“Opinion on John, and, GO!”

“John?” Lafayette replied, kneading a lump of bread dough with both hands, flour covering his face. He was wearing his favorite apron, the one Herc had embroidered flowers and foliage and flags and cat tails all over. “John is one of my best friends, _ami,_ you know that.”

A shot of Herc, sitting at the big table, sorting tea. “John’s one of the only reasons I stuck around New York back in the day. I thought about moving, but this place, him, Lafayette… I love ‘em all too much to leave.”

Shots of customers, holding up their drinks with custom artwork doodled on the side, a butterfly, a sunset, an alien with a U.F.O., a spectacular rendition of Iron Man. Kids grinning at their cups, girls taking pictures of them with their phones, old men turning to show their wives.

“He gives me a cake pop every time I come in,” a little girl said to the camera, her missing-teeth smile wide and genuine. Alex heard Lafayette snort imperiously in the background. 

A great shot of Paul and Syb, the bike messengers, holding up their tandem-bike drink and making two thumbs-up with their other hands. “John Laurens, endorsed by the fastest bikers in New York State!”

Alex chanced a look over at John. His eyes were wide, his cheeks were bright red.

The camera moved to a shot of John himself, with Alex mock-interviewing him in the background.

“Aaaaand, Mr. Laurens, your favorite drink to make?”

“Probably Peggy Schuyler’s mocha [EXPLETIVE DELETED], but I like making your drink, too, Ham. Promise this isn’t rolling?”

“Nah, it’s off. Aaaaand, your favorite customer?”

“Come on, you know I love all our people equally. Even Burr.” John laughed at himself, ducking his head and running his hand over his hairnetted curls. “Seriously, Alex, if this is running, I swear to God--”

“Okay, last question, Mr. Laurens, why do you love Libertea?”

John sobered up at that, looking at Alex through the camera lens, as serious as Alex had ever seen him. “You know the answer to that, man. I was a floater before this place, just kind of making my way through life, depending on other people’s handouts. My dad, my inheritance, whatever. This place gave me a purpose. It gave me friends. It gave me _you,_ dude, don’t [EXPLETIVE DELETED] forget that.”

The camera panned over to Burr, sitting in his usual spot at the bar, Americano halfway to his lips. Alex’s finger, pointing, got into the shot.

“John Laurens, and, GO!”

“What about him?”

“What do you have to say?”

“He makes a damn good Americano?” Burr took a sip, looked appreciatively down at the cup. “Like, _really_ good.”

“What else?”

Burr set the cup down at that, and Alex remembered this altercation. He was pretty sure that Burr was going to get up and leave, or at least cuss him out and refuse to be on camera, but then Burr bit at the skin around his thumb, looking down at the floor before back up at the camera.

“He can always make me smile.”

And then Burr smiled, and Alex remembered being hit right in the chest with a Mac truck of emotions, closing like a vise around his heart then like it was now. In the office chair of the biggest loan officers in the state of New York, Alex almost closed his eyes. He knew what was coming.

The camera flickered onto a shot of him, sitting at Libertea’s bar with the screen facing inwards toward him. On-screen Alex took a deep breath right as present-day Alex did.

“Uh,” he said, “we just had a visit from Charles Lee, a guy that used to work here. I got some footage, let’s see if this works--”

A shaky clip played. It was Lee, from the day before, sneering up at Washington.

“ _I want you to fire John Laurens. I want you to throw John Laurens out onto the road. I want you to ban John Laurens from ever setting foot on your property Just like you did to me._ ”

The clip cut out, and it was back to Alex, sitting alone in the slowly darkening shop.

“Lee’s out for revenge,” past Alex said. “He’s had it out for John ever since he got fired, ‘cause he thinks it’s John’s fault. And sure, John’s the one that hit him, but he was just trying to protect this place, like we’re all doing right now.”

On-screen Alex took another breath, running his hand down his face. “Sorry guys, it’s been kind of a long day.”

He composed himself, and continued. 

“John’s my first friend I ever made in this city. He let me stay with him, he got me this job, he’s looked out for me since the day I met him. If he left…” Alex paused. “I’d have to leave, too. I couldn’t stay here without him. He’s the heart of Libertea, and he’s the heart of a lot of other things, too.”

“If you want to help us save Libertea, you have to let us keep John Laurens.”

The screen went dark. Alex looked over at John, but he didn’t look back. The vise closed tighter.

Louis stood. “Very well. Now that we’ve seen everything we need to see, Mr. Washington, we’d like to see you in our back office to discuss.”

Washington nodded at the two loan officers, nodded at Alex, nodded at the rest of his employees, and followed Louis and Rochambeau into the back. The four of them, in sort of a stunned silence, exited through the bank’s main lobby and out into the darkening New York streets. Lafayette and Herc took the lead, weaving their way back to Libertea, and John fell in step with Alex.

“That was crazy, what you did for me.”

“Man, I’m sorry,” Alex said quickly, “if it was out of line or anything--”

John stopped all of a sudden and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, his arms wrapped around Alex’s neck, Alex’s arms tight around his chest. The sudden trainwreck of John-warmth and John-smell and _John_ was too much, and Alex melted immediately into the embrace.

“Thank you.” John’s voice was scratchy and emotional against his ear. He pulled away first, and Alex was left wishing that he hadn’t. 

“It was nothing,” he said as they continued walking. John swiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands. 

“Sure it was fucking nothing.”

“Okay, it was something.”

John grinned through all of the conflicting emotions warring across his face. “You, Alex Hamilton, are something.”

They made it to Libertea in record time. The door was unlocked and the big table was filled with salads and a plate of burgers and a bowl of cut fruit; Mrs. Washington had really gone all-out. Lafayette and John immediately grabbed a handful of fudge, and Herc collapsed on a bar stool. Martha came out of the kitchen, hair tied into a bun, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“How’d it go?”

“We don’t know yet,” Lafayette answered through his mouthful of fudge. “The commander’s still down there, talking to the loan officers.”

As they settled down and ate some food, Alex tried to calm his racing heartbeat. He found himself watching John as he paced, still worrying his fingers together, every once in a while looking up at the flag, at the logo, at the menus. He wished he could help him calm down, but he couldn’t even calm down himself.

People that Lafayette had invited slowly trickled in; Sybil Ludington and Paul Revere locked their bikes around the tree outside, Mrs. Ross took a seat next to Herc, running a comforting hand down his back, the Schuylers came as one big group and sat at Alex’s table, keeping up a running commentary to try and keep his mind off of the verdict. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Alex watched as John heaved himself onto the counter. They weren’t technically allowed to sit on the bar, but Alex joined him, using a stool to propel himself up beside John. He immediately moved closer.

“How you feeling?”

“Fucking insane.” John let a breath loose towards the ceiling. “I’m losing it, Alex, I can’t get fired. I can’t _quit._ What the hell!”

“None of that’s happening,” Alex said. “Remember my video? The awesome editing skills? If that can’t save you, nothing can.” He snickered and elbowed John. “Come on, man, everything’s going to work out.”

John let out another heavy breath. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“All that shit you said in the video. About me.”

_...he’s the heart of a lot of other things, too…_

Before he could answer, Libertea’s front door slammed open with the clanging of a thousand Judgement Day bells, and Washington stepped over the threshold. 

Sons Of Libertea went graveyard silent. Alex watched as Washington’s eyes swept over everyone gathered there, his wife, the Schuyler sisters, his employees, his regular customers, and finally, locked with his.

Washington smiled.

“We won.”

Herc leaped off his stool and threw his beanie into the air as the shop burst into ecstatic noise.

“WE WON!” he bellowed. Lafayette swept Martha into a hug as the Schuylers cheered.

“ _WE WON!_ ” 

John looked over at Alex. He had real tears in his eyes now, ones that almost exactly matched the ones welling up in Alex’s. “We won.”

Alex leapt down from the counter and into a huge embrace from Herc that lifted him entirely off of his feet. Lafayette joined, and John jumped off of the counter and onto Herc’s back, and the four of them stayed like that for almost a full minute, breathing and laughing and uncomfortable, group-hugging in their shop, in their shop, _in their shop._

The bells jangled again, breaking through the revelry, and Burr rushed in, tie askew, out of breath. John waved over the hubbub.

“Burr, we fuckin’ did it!”

He didn’t acknowledge John at all, and the entire shop went quiet as a girl stepped in behind him. She had dreadlocks piled on top of her head, a nose ring, and her hand was firmly in Burr’s.

“Hey, Aaron, is that her?” Alex yelled across the shop. Burr grinned, then, the ecstatic smile of the deeply in love cutting across his face.

“This is Theodosia,” he announced to the full house, and then he lifted up her left hand. “We’re engaged.”

“WHAT!” John bounded over to him right as Washington clapped him on the back, and the entire shop disintegrated into general noise once again, with people congratulating Washington, greeting Theodosia, fawning over her ring, congratulating Burr, and starting the cycle over again.

Somehow in the mayhem, Alex found himself by the bar again, and somehow, John cut his way through the crowd at the exact same time. He looked at Alex, his deep eyes containing more happiness in their brown depths than Alex had seen in weeks.

“Alex--” he said, but Alex cut him off.

“You asked me if I meant what I said.”

“Yeah, and--”

“I meant every word.”

Alex breathed out and took John’s hand, warm and sweaty from shaking hands and clapping backs, and their fingers intertwined. He walked one step forward and their other hands touched, the tops of their toes touched, their bodies touched.

As one, they leaned forward.

Their lips touched. 

Alex couldn’t hear anything except John’s breath coming in spurts as they kissed, his warm hands cupping Alex’s face, his freckled nose bumping Alex’s as their lips pressed together for the first time. 

Alex couldn’t see anything except for the short moments where his eyes opened before they closed again in bliss, he caught glimpses of John’s night-sky freckles, of John’s own tightly shut eyes, his eyelashes curled up against his cheeks.

Alex couldn’t feel anything except John’s mouth on his, John’s hands on his face, his own hands wrapped around John’s neck, tangled in John’s curls, tight and possessive and never letting go.

Moments, even wonderful moments, bird in the wind moments, rollercoaster dipping to take the big plunge moments, have to end, and that one ended with John coming up for air first, breathing heavily and leaning his forehead onto Alex’s, eyes roving his face, taking it all in.

Alex was intrinsically aware of Lafayette and Herc cheering in the background, but he didn’t care about that.

“So,” he said, a little breathless, “I kind of like you a lot.”

John let out a giant laugh at that, the kind Alex wished he could press between the pages of one of his encyclopedias and keep forever. 

“Fucking same.”

They broke apart then, but not really, because John threaded his fingers between Alex’s like they belonged together, and, Alex realized in a sudden burst of heart-rending emotion, they did. He squeezed once. John squeezed back twice.

Peggy burst through the crowd, Eliza and Angelica trailing behind her. All three of the Schuylers had varying shades of excitement coloring the grins on their faces, and as they crowded around, so did Lafayette and Herc. The next couple minutes were a whirlwind, their friends congratulating them, ribbing them, Lafayette and Herc exchanging a sum of money that Alex made a mental note to ask about later, and Peggy taking selfies, but Alex and John didn’t lose their grip on each other once.

“I have one more announcement to make.” Washington cleared his throat, clinking a spoon on one of Libertea’s ceramic mugs, stepping onto a chair and taking in the entirety of the shop. Surprisingly enough, everyone quieted down. Washington pointed the spoon at John and Alex. “And don’t think I didn’t see that.”

John winked at Washington. Washington winked back, clearing his throat again. 

“The loan officers at Versailles Bank were more than impressed with the effort we’ve put into this. They made me an offer that would allow me to open a second location of Sons Of Libertea.”

“ _What?_ ” This was John.

“Really!” This was Martha.

“It would be a little ways across the city,” Washington continued, “I haven’t thought of the exact location yet. And don’t worry, I would hire more employees to staff that one. The original staff stays here.”

“Of fuckin’ course,” John called out across the shop. “Oh my God, guys, _LIBERTWO_.”

Washington chuckled a little at that, stepping off of his chair as the door opened and Madison slipped in, backpack on his back and an apologetic look on his face. Alex waved across the shop.

“Mads! Hey! Glad you made it, man, I was afraid you didn’t get my text.”

Madison shifted, looking more than a little uncomfortable in the riled up crowd. He took the hand Washington offered him, and shook it.

“I actually didn’t get your text, Alex, we got Washington’s.”

Alex raised his eyebrows. “We?”

The roar of an engine sounded over the spirited crowd, and Alex looked over at John. He shrugged like he didn’t care in the least, twining their fingers together again.

A car shrieked around the corner, a bright purple flash of excessiveness, striking against the curb right in front of Libertea’s _No Parking_ sign. The door slammed and the shop’s door opened, not timid like Madison’s entrance had been, not ecstatic like Burr’s, but casually, confidently, the door swinging open like all the time in the world was ready and available.

The car’s owner (keys twirling lazily around a finger, one hand brushing back a lion’s mane of well-maintained hair, a watch on the left wrist worth more than an entire month of their apartment’s rent) stepped into Libertea, not only aware of the disturbance he had caused, but visibly reveling in it.

He pushed his sunglasses down further on his nose, his teeth displayed in a barbed grin, his eyes cutting across the shop and locking directly onto Alex’s.

“What’d I miss?”

END OF PART ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 16 (the first chapter in **PART TWO** ) will be released two weeks from now (June 12th). Until then, please leave comments/kudos if you've liked the coffeeshop shenanigans so far, and feel free to come scream at me at fihli.tumblr.com! I love you all, thank you for supporting this fic, and John, Alex, and everyone else at Sons Of Libertea salutes you!
> 
> Headcanon casting: Kerry Washington as Martha Washington, Sendhil Ramamurthy as Rochambeau, and for some reason, I can only picture Louis XVI as Pitbull. Feel free to fancast him as you will. 
> 
> -Gab


	16. Whatever's Awaiting Me In N.Y.C.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex tries to make sense of the night before.
> 
> This chapter is partially inspired by _How I Met Your Mother_ Season 2 Episode 3, "Brunch", and Season 6 Episode 4, "Subway Wars". Welcome to PART TWO!

PART TWO

_Beep…. Beep… Beep…_

Alex pushed down on his alarm clock’s top button without hesitation. It was six in the morning but he’d been awake for at least a half hour, staring up at his dark ceiling, a loose spring from the sofa bed digging into his back, thinking about John.

The previous night had been _nuts_.

He maneuvered into a more comfortable position on his bed, not ready to get up and face the day. The events of the night before were still swirling together in his brain, a constant, thumping, dance club rhythm of thoughts and feelings and strains of white-hot passion that occasionally overtook everything else.

He needed to compartmentalize. He was good at that, and he still had fifteen minutes until he needed to leave for work.

Closing his eyes against the still-darkness of his room, Alex divided his brain into six parts. 

The first part consisted of Washington, Martha, and the buffet table of food she’d prepared.

  
_THE GEORGE AND MARTHA PART_

  
“So how long has _this_ been going on?” Washington clapped one hand on Alex’s shoulder and one hand on John’s, his tone saying disapproval but his wide grin saying otherwise. Alex let out a relieved breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, and grinned back at his boss. He wasn’t worried about Washington’s reaction, at least he hadn’t been until he started walking towards the buffet table, clenching his hands into halfhearted clammy fists.

_Does Washington have some sort of no dating coworkers rule?_ His mind was whirring a mile a minute. _I mean, John and I barely get stuff done around each other anyway, and if we’re allowed to kiss at work then it might get a little out of hand, and…_

That’s when he’d started thinking about John’s mouth on his mouth, and things had gotten a little hazy until Washington had snapped him out of it.

“I’m assuming the two of you weren’t dating before today,” Martha said, grabbing a paper plate and passing it to John. It had an assortment of food piled high; chips and buffalo chicken dip, guacamole, some sort of egg pie, and, of course, fudge. He swiped a piece when John wasn’t looking. “I would have _hoped_ my husband would let me in on shop secrets.”

“Believe me,” Washington said, also reaching over and taking a piece of fudge off of John’s plate, “I didn’t know, either. I mean, I had my suspicions--”

“Bullshit,” Martha said cheerily, and John’s head shot up, grinning wildly at her. “You wouldn’t know flirting if it shot you in the chest.” She nudged him right in his aforementioned chest, smirking up at him like it was an inside joke, and turned to Alex.

“You know, _I_ had to ask _him_ out first.”

“All right,” Washington said loudly, moving closer to the buffet table and taking a handful of chips, “that’s enough of that. Alex, John, congratulations. I’m happy for the two of you, we both are.” He pulled Martha to his side, and for a moment the four of them stood, Washington and his wife sharing chips and Alex enjoying very, very close proximity with John, as well as his piece of fudge.

“This really is excellent, Marth.” Washington took another piece off of John's plate before he leaned down and rested his chin on the top of her head for a brief second. “You’ve made some pretty good batches before, but this is--”

“What’s over here? Is that _fudge_? Who’s hiding Martha’s fudge?”

Pushing through the crowd, eyebrows perpetually quirked in an all-around condescending air, came the owner of the showy purple car. Alex had done his best to ignore him; he hadn’t even learned his name or what he was doing in the shop. All he knew was that he knew Washington and he knew Madison, who was currently ducking past and apologizing to the people his more energetic friend had just pushed past.

“There it is.” He plucked a piece of fudge off of John’s plate, ignoring Alex’s immediate noise of disbelief mixed with irritation, and turned to Martha. “Seriously, this is just as good as I remembered. What’s in here? Nuts?”

“Walnuts,” Martha replied, her beaming countenance the exact opposite of what Alex was feeling towards the newcomer. John seemed oblivious to his prickling rage, and kept pressing closer on his other side. It was nice, but not what he was focused on.

“There’s none without nuts?” he asked. Martha shook her head, and he leaned back to Madison.

“Don’t eat the fudge.”

“You’re allergic to nuts?” Martha asked. Madison nodded. “I’ll make some without next time, I promise.”

“I don’t think I introduced you to my best baristas,” Washington said, slinging a friendly arm around the newcomer’s shoulders. They were about the same height, Alex noticed, and the simmering resentment that had begun as soon as he walked through the door continued to burn. “Alex, John. Thomas Jefferson. He’s a good friend of mine. Actually helped out a little around here before moving to France for a while.”

“A month abroad,” Madison muttered, “in whatever universe a month equates to _two years_.”

The guy, Jefferson, turned back to Madison for a heartbeat, grinning his white-teeth grin, but as soon as he turned it back on Alex and John, it shifted. Became sharper, somehow, losing all softness it held while it was aimed at Madison. This was a grin that took no quarter.

“Alexander Hamilton,” Alex said before Jefferson could say a word, and held out one hand. He took it, shaking it in that easy, casual way that politicians learned, the rich inherited, and that Alex never would be able to emulate in his entire life. 

“Mr. Jefferson, welcome home.” Washington clapped him on the back again made a wide gesture towards John. “Now, Mr. Laurens, what do you say you and I whip up some drinks for our patient customers?”

John took Alex’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze before following Washington behind Libertea’s bar. Alex had no idea where Madison had gotten off to, Martha ducked into the kitchen with an empty tray, and Alex was left alone by the buffet table with Jefferson.

“You’re a lawyer?” Jefferson asked without much pretense, grabbing a handful of spicy peanuts off of the table. Alex threw John’s mostly cleaned off plate into the garbage so he could cross his arms.

“Pre-law, actually. Two years of school to go.”

“That’s nice.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Alex’s eyes were so narrowed that he could barely see through them. “What do you do, besides hang out in France?”

Jefferson shrugged one nonchalant shoulder. “Mostly just that.”

“Alex! Hey, c’mere!” This was Peggy, with her sisters at two tables pushed together by Libertea’s street-viewing windows, and Alex was never more eager to get away from a table full of food. He ducked through the crowd to get to her, immediately glad that Jefferson didn’t follow.

  


_THE ANGELICA, ELIZA, AND PEGGY PART_  


  
There were three empty cups by Peggy, all of them holding the dripping remnants of mocha shitstorms, and she was practically vibrating in her seat. Her sisters were a little more subdued; Eliza had a small plate with a few chips and a half-picked at lump of guacamole, and Angelica was  
on her phone. Alex pulled up a chair between Peggy and Eliza.

“Guys,” he said by way of greeting. Eliza swept a hand over his shoulder and down his arm.

“You and John!” she said, grabbing him by the bicep and giving him a firm shake. “How do you feel right now?”

Peggy took hold of his other arm. “He’s feeling like a damn _boss_ , that’s what he’s feeling like. Tell her, Ham. Isn’t it nice to get unrequited love out of the way for fucking once?”

Angelica laughed at that and slipped her phone back into her purse. She took one of Eliza’s chips and dunked it twice into the guac, eating it in one bite without getting a single brush of lipstick out of line. 

“I am happy for you, Alex,” she said. “It was nice to see you make a move, even though you could have waited a little, in my opinion.”

Alex bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” she continued, “we all--”

“We bet on it,” Peggy finished for her, “ _High School Musical_ style. Me and Ang and Herc thought you’d wait at least two more weeks, Laf and Eliza were on the sooner-rather-than-later train.”

“You’re all jackasses,” Alex muttered, sinking back into his seat, but he was hiding a grin and really, he didn’t mind. They all talked about him and John, so what? People were going to talk, and he’d rather it come from his best friends than from people with an agenda to hurt him. 

Peggy slapped his arm. “You’re the jackass, jackass.”

“Ang, here he comes,” Eliza hissed, leaning over to get as close to her sister as possible, but Alex still overheard. Angelica rolled her eyes and sat up a little straighter in her seat.

“Here it fucking goes,” she said under her breath, right as Jefferson pulled a chair up to their table. He squeezed right in between Eliza and Alex, and Madison stood in the space between Alex and Peggy until she scooted onto Angelica’s chair, motioning for Madison to take hers.

“What’re y’all talking about?” Jefferson leaned his elbows onto the table, pushing Eliza’s plate aside and taking up way more space than he needed to. He addressed the whole group, but his gaze was fixed firmly on Angelica. She brushed an imaginary errant strand of hair out of her face.

“Important things, until you showed up. Now we’re talking about our favorite _Ben & Jerry’s_ flavors.” She met his stare evenly. Alex was sure that if he was faced with that city-leveling look, he’d wither and die. “Mine’s _Cherry Garcia_.” 

Jefferson quirked one eyebrow. “Really? I’d guess you were more of a _Karamel Sutra_ kind of girl.”

Her pupils flared. 

“And you’re _Half-Baked_ , right? Or was that just in France?”

Jefferson laughed at that, showing all of his teeth and seemingly unaware that the mood of the rest of the table was tense and uncomfortable. 

“Come on, Angel, we had some good times, right?”

“ _What_?” Eliza whipped around to look at her sister, eyes wide, and Peggy practically threw herself into Angelica’s lap. “You did _what_?”

“With _him_!” Peggy’s eyebrows were at her hairline, and she looked half thrilled and half mortified. “Details! Right fucking now!”

“Nothing happened!” Angelica pushed Peggy back onto her half of the chair and looked insistently at Eliza. “I’m serious! We met in France, hung out a few times, nothing happened! Nothing _at all_ \--”

“Angelica Schuyler,” Jefferson said, slapping a hand to his heart, “you hurt me.”

“Do you still not know how to make a box of Kraft?” she shot back.

“Hey, I took a few cooking classes, _Parisian_ cooking classes--”

Madison lifted his head from where it had been pillowed in his arms. “The answer to that question is a vehement _no_.”

Angelica pointed at Madison, who retreated back into his table-and-arm fortress. “I like him.”

“I hate you,” Jefferson shot over Alex’s head. “You’re still pissed I’m back.”

“I’m pissed you left,” Madison muttered. Alex didn’t miss how Jefferson’s face softened at that while Madison wasn’t looking; how he went from all jagged edges to gentle arcs. He just let out another laugh.

“I’m back now,” he said, throwing a wink across the table at a visibly revolted Angelica, and draping his arm over Alex’s shoulders. The minute Jefferson’s leather jacket touched his slightly rumpled button up shirt he tensed up. He was so close that he could smell the subtle hint of Jefferson’s cologne; he could see out of the corner of his eye the meticulous line of facial hair versus skin that was only achieved by a lifetime in front of a mirror.

He shrugged off the arm just as he caught a glimpse of Burr across the sea of people; Libertea was quickly reaching her capacity. Burr lifted one hand in a quick, subtle gesture, but it was all Alex needed. He met Eliza’s eyes for the quickest of moments, shared a _this asshole’s the worst_ sort of look towards Jefferson, and then he was off through the crowd again.

  


  
_THE BURR AND THEODOSIA PART_

  
“Well!” Alex finally made it to Burr, standing with Theodosia by the door, their fingers twined together. “If it isn’t Aaron Burr, sir!”

Burr actually laughed at that, and Alex laughed with him, mood improving with every second he spent out of Jefferson’s too-wide personal bubble. 

“I figured I’d try and save you from…” Burr jerked his head back across the crowd, presumably towards Jefferson. “He doesn’t really seem like your type.”

“Man, you saw. I’m with John, I don’t want any sort of--”

“Not romantically,” Burr amended, “I just meant type of human. In general.”

Alex blew a breath out of his nose. “You got that right. He's a sleazeball. I wouldn't trust him to water my plants, and they're _plastic_.”

“He’s an asshole,” Theodosia added, leaning closer to Burr. “Probably an Aries.”

Alex laughed at that, too, even though he didn’t really get it, and held out his hand to Burr’s wife-to-be. She took it, squeezing slightly, her grip warm from holding Burr’s hand. She really was beautiful, Alex thought, a little older than him, dreadlocks in an elegant pile on the top of her head, the eyeliner at the corners of her eyes sharpened to a deadly point. 

“Theodosia Bartow,” she introduced herself. He bowed slightly.

“Alexander Hamilton,” he replied. “Call me Alex.”

“And you can call us _leaving_ ,” Burr said, making for the door. Alex dodged Paul, who was telling an animated story to both Syb and Mrs. Revere, to stand in his way.

“Don’t leave,” he implored, “you gotta stay, Burr, it’s just getting started!”

“I’m not running interference between you and that Jefferson guy all night.” Burr crossed his arms. “And, not to be rude, but an hour ago I got _engaged._ This is the last place I want to be right now.”

Alex ignored Theodosia’s smirk and waved his arms around a little to get Burr’s attention. “Come on, Aaron, you gotta… Hey, at least tell me _that_ story before you go. How’d you ask her?”

Burr rolled his eyes, shooting a little apologetic glance over to Theodosia that Alex didn’t miss. “And then we can leave?”

“Sure.” Alex caught a glimpse of Burr’s face, already twisted in a _don't you dare say it_ sort of look. He smirked. “Sir.”

“ _Alex--_ ”

“Your name is _so rhymable_ , Aaron--”

“He came over to my apartment like three hours ago,” Theodosia butted in, and Alex settled back, arms crossed smugly at the way Burr rolled his eyes and retreated behind his fiancée. “I’d just texted him that James and I broke up--”

“How’d that happen?”

“King sent him away,” she replied quickly, like she’d been waiting for the question. “Some work he had down south. I broke up with him; said I couldn’t do long distance and I didn’t want to try and make it work.”

“And five minutes later…” Alex grinned at the same time Burr did.

“It wasn’t that fast,” he argued.

“Ten minutes, tops,” Theodosia concluded. They twined their fingers together again, and the light caught on her engagement ring, the excessive diamond throwing beams of yellow light across the floorboards. “He ran twenty-three flights of stairs to get to my apartment. I think he almost threw up.”

“Don’t check the fern by your welcome mat,” Burr said, beaming when she cracked up. 

“You had the ring already and everything?” Alex asked. Burr shrugged one shoulder, looking a little embarrassed, but not enough to make it matter. “God, Aaron, you’re a fox. What happened to _waiting for it_?”

Burr moved even nearer to Theodosia, if that was even possible. They were inseparable, glowing and brilliant and _happy_ , and Alex couldn’t help but think of John. His relationship with John, growing, changing, becoming deeper and closer and better. A ring on John’s left hand one day, a promise, a commitment that Alex would take with him to his grave.

“ _Ugh_.” Burr made a noise in the back of his throat, shocking Alex back to reality. “You’re thinking about Laurens, aren’t you?” The tone was accusing but the execution was not; Burr couldn’t hide his smile even if he tried.

“I’m not--” Alex argued halfheartedly, because, indeed, he had been. Burr rolled his eyes.

“You two, trying to steal my moment. Go. Get the hell out of here.” He nodded his head over the crowd to Libertea’s bar, where John was making drinks and sneaking looks over at Alex every half-second. “I’ll find you to say goodbye before we get out of here.”

Alex nodded gratefully at Burr, side-hugged Theodosia, and made his way to the bar.

  


_THE JOHN LAURENS PART_

  
“Look who it is,” John said loudly as Alex finally made it to the front counter, claiming the only open stool, the one closest to the wall that was usually occupied by Burr. “The most recent person my lips touched, the hopeful recipient of more smooches in the future, the sexiest person in this general vicinity and yes, that includes HERCULES MULLIGAN--” he yelled over his shoulder into the kitchen, where Herc was, supposedly, and then threw his arms open wide, Will Smith style, towards Alex. “ _ALEX HAMILTON_!”

Alex accepted the frappe he slid across the bar. “Are you drunk?”

“Drunk off you,” John said, blowing a huge, obscene kiss towards him right as Madison slipped through the crowd, taking the stool next to Alex. He breathed out, apparently taxed just from interacting with random people as he walked to the bar, and composed himself.

“Hey, Alex.” This was towards Alex.

“How much for a tall coffee?” This was towards John. 

“It’s free, man,” John replied, immediately slipping back into barista mode. “Everything’s on the house, just for tonight though, so don’t get any stupid ideas. And it’s _small_ , not tall. We’re not Starbucks.”

Madison nodded, holding out his hand for John to shake. “James Madison.”

“Oh, you’re that dude from Alex’s study group,” John replied, grabbing a small hot cup and filling it with coffee. “Way to give him, like, all of the work.”

Madison shot a faux glare at Alex. “Not my fault. He’s insane.”

“I hear that.” John pushed the cup across the bar, along with small ceramic containers of sugar and creamer. “There’s more stuff over there, but I won’t make you give up your seat. They’re in high demand.” 

Madison thanked him, dressing his coffee with a scoop of sugar and more than enough creamer, and took a sip. The three of them spent the next few minutes playing a game John had apparently invented in the half-hour he’d spent making drinks without Alex; it was like paper football, but with a sugar packet, and the goal was to flick it hard enough to hit another player in the face. 

According to John, a chest hit was two points, arms were worth five, a hit on the neck was seven, and the face was a touchdown, worth twelve points. They played by themselves for a few rounds until Madison joined in, and they were halfway through their third game (John was at twenty-seven, Alex was at twenty-one (he’d gotten lucky with three neck shots in a row, all towards Madison), and Madison had eleven) when Jefferson slid onto the third stool in the row.

“What’s going on?” he asked Madison, who leaned back and quickly explained the rules. He slid the sugar packet down the bar, Jefferson picked it up, and flicked it clear across the back of the counter. It hit the back wall and fell somewhere behind the espresso machine.

He lifted an eyebrow. “How many points was that?”

“None, dude,” John said, “you fuckin’ lost the thing!”

“I see more sugar packets over there,” Madison offered. “I can go grab one.”

“Nah, it’s over.” John grabbed a rag from on top of the corner mini fridge and gave the counter a quick wipe down. He pointed at Jefferson as he finished, slinging the rag over his shoulder. “What do you want to drink? What was your name? Tom?”

“Give me whatever you have that’s good,” he said. “And my name’s Thomas Jefferson. People don’t usually call me _Tom_.”

“Good ol’ Tommy J.,” John said casually, turning around to open the fridge. As he started to mix Jefferson’s drink, Alex had to hide a smirk. John already didn’t like Jefferson, he could tell. If he could’ve kissed John again right there, he would’ve. 

“Here,” John said, pushing the drink across the counter. “It’s just iced coffee, but I put some hazelnut in it. Don’t like it? There’s the garbage.”

Jefferson took a sip. Shrugged.

“S’not bad.”

“That’s what I fucking thought.”

As Jefferson took increasingly longer sips of his drink and John went to top off Peggy’s fourth mocha shitstorm, Alex turned to Madison, who had been playing _Neko Atsume_ on his phone. He’d named all of his cats after characters from classic literature. Jo March was currently playing with a ball of yarn while Scout Finch had gotten to the top of a cat scratching pole.

“You play that game, too?” he asked. “Peggy’s obsessed with it. She made Laf download it and he’s been playing pretty much non-stop.”

“The gold fish to silver fish trade rate is awful, though,” Madison said. “I’ve written a few letters to the company about it. No reply; not yet, at least.”

“So, Hamilton.” Jefferson had finished his drink and was now leaning around Madison, one elbow on the bar, again, taking up too much room. “What is it you do?”

“What do you mean?” Alex answered. He didn’t bother watching his tone. From what he’d seen of Jefferson, nothing got under his skin. “Washington literally introduced me as a barista. _I work here._ ”

“No, no.” Jefferson waved a dismissive hand. “Besides that. What do you _do_?”

“Uh, I don’t know what you want to hear. I told you earlier that I’m pre-law. Studying and work, that’s about the size of it.”

“Oh, wow.” Jefferson spun his stool around so his back was to the bar, leaning back and stretching. He’d grabbed a toothpick from somewhere, it was dangling from his lips, and somehow it was the most pretentious thing that Alex had ever seen. “That’s pretty depressing. No hobbies? No trips coming up? Y’know, just the other day I took a helicopter to Barcelona. Ever been to Barcelona, Ham?”

Alex’s shoulders tensed. _Who the hell is this guy?_

“Maybe I’ve never been to _Barcelona_ because I’m not a damn leech who lives off my parents’ trust fund or whatever the hell you do,” he said, cocking his head to the side and raising both eyebrows at Jefferson, who’s eyes slowly narrowed like a snake about to strike. “Ever think about that, _Jeff_?”

“All right, Alex, that’s enough,” Madison said, but Jefferson came off of the counter, rolling his shoulders back like he’d been waiting for this ever since laying eyes on New York, on Libertea, on Alex. 

“Maybe you’ve never been to Barcelona because you don’t work hard enough for it.”

“And when have you ever worked a day in your life, you motherfucking _asshole_ \--”

“Hold on just a--” John ducked back behind the counter, cutting himself off. “Who’s calling who a _bleep bleeping bleep_ at this fucking _family event_?”

“C’mon, Johnny boy, we’re just having fun.” Jefferson settled back down against the bar, the fire in his eyes dimmed for the present as he plaintively chewed on his toothpick. As soon as John turned away, he grinned at Alex, jagged smile full of teeth and malice. 

“I can’t fucking deal with this,” Alex muttered, jumping down from his stool and pushing his way through the crowd to the swinging kitchen door. As soon as it closed behind him and he saw Lafayette bent over a lump of bread dough and Herc sitting on the big table, he felt better, more closed off, more protected.

  


_THE LAFAYETTE AND HERC PART_

  
John pushed through the door behind him and right into Alex’s back, effectively rounding out their kitchen quartet.

“The hell was that, Alex?” John asked, grabbing his arm and spinning him around until they were face-to-face. Alex couldn’t believe how just looking at John made him calmer; the baby curls escaping from the back of his hastily donned hairnet, the flecks of chocolate from the dispenser intermingled with his freckles, his wide eyes. “I know that guy’s a dick, but--”

“Who?” Herc asked.

“Thomas _fucking_ Jefferson,” Alex spat out, yanking his arm out of John’s grip. Even thinking the name put him immediately back on the defense. “With his _Barcelona trips_ and his _toothpick_ and his damn leather jacket, you guys know that it can’t be fake, right? Who the hell wears real leather? Just walking in here, pissing me off--” 

“Come on, Alex,” Lafayette said, kneading the dough in soft circles, flour intermittently mushroom clouding into the air. “I know him. He’s not bad.”

“ _Excuse me_?” Alex.

“Since when?” John. 

“You’re gonna share that bread, right?” Herc. 

“Yeah.” Lafayette replied to Herc first, and then turned to Alex and John. “And yes to you both, as well. Thomas knew Washington before I did. He knows French, the commander doesn’t, so when I came to America and fell in with Washington, he was the first person I was introduced to.”

“So you _like_ him?” Alex asked, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“I do,” Lafayette replied, putting his kneaded dough in a bowl and covering it with a towel. “Like I said, _ami_ , he’s not bad. He can be a little--”

“Pretentious?” Alex.

“Full of it?” John.

“The fucking worst?” Alex again. 

“Let it go,” Lafayette said, waving his right hand as he pulled a tray of cookies out of the oven with his left. Herc immediately grabbed a fork and a plate and teased one off the hot tray, leaving spots of melted chocolate behind. “Let’s discuss something else that happened today.”

Lafayette waggled his eyebrows. Herc smirked with a mouthful of cookie.

“Lovers in the _niiiiiiiiiiiiiight_ ,” Herc sang as soon as he was able to. “Exchanging glances… Will it be _alriiiiiiggghhhttt_ …”

“Shut up,” John retorted, but it was halfhearted.

“I hate him,” Alex said at the same time, but it was halfhearted.

“Sure you do,” Lafayette said, passing each of them a quickly cooling cookie. “You know the rules at the apartment. No sex--”

“Only have sex in Laf’s bed,” Herc broke in. Lafayette glared.

“No sex in my bed!” He glared harder, if that was even possible, but it was aimed at Herc. “ _Mulligan_.”

“I bought you new sheets!”

Lafayette waved a dismissive hand as John grabbed Alex’s. 

“We know the rules,” he called over his shoulder as he tugged Alex up the stairs leading to Washington’s office. Even as they got further away from the kitchen he could still hear Mulligan calling up after them. 

“Use protection!”

  


_THE JOHN LAURENS PART, PART TWO_

  
They didn’t even make it into the office before John pulled him closer, pressing their lips together and twining his arms around Alex’s waist like they hadn’t seen each other in years. Alex looped his arms around the back of John’s neck, leaning into the kiss and reveling in it; the faint scratch of his facial hair against John’s smooth chin, their noses bumping into each other, John laughing every time Alex accidentally bit his lip.

“That was even better than the first one,” he said as soon as they broke apart, slumping onto the top step in a pile of limbs and button-up shirts and Alex’s increasingly loose tie. “If we keep this up, we’re gonna get a fuckin’... Olympic medal or some shit.”

“Olympic gold,” Alex mused, still trying to catch his breath. “For what, makeouts?”

“Yeah.” John moved even closer, if that was possible. “I needed to get you out of there. Being around that guy, Jefferson, it was making you all--”

“Angry,” Alex finished, “yeah, I know. Sorry. People don’t usually get under my skin like that.”

“Really.” John laughed. “I’m sure.”

“Yeah, really, you asshole!” Alex pushed John’s shoulder and John pushed him back until they were mock-fighting at the top of the stairwell. 

They kissed again. It was better than the second one.

Alex ran a hand through his hair right after they separated. . 

“I’m never getting any work done here ever again.”

“Why’s that?”

“‘Cause this place has the cutest barista ever.”

John laughed again, snuggling next to Alex on the stairs and laying his head on his shoulder. Their fingers wrapped together and they stayed like that for a long time, Alex losing track of the minutes passing, losing track of the number of breaths John breathed, losing track of how many times he thought _I am the luckiest person in the god damned world_.

“Look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now,” he muttered into John’s curls. He didn’t respond, just made a sleepy, happy noise and moved even closer.

They stayed like that until Lafayette called up the stairs; everyone had left and Washington was about to close the shop. He nudged John into a more awake state, and supported him back down the stairs, out the door, up the street, and into their apartment. They split at the fork; Lafayette and Alex went to the left, and Herc and John went to the right, but not before Alex pressed his lips to John’s one last time.

It was their fourth kiss of the night, and it was the best one yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Back to work, new dynamics, new friends, new enemies. 
> 
> Endless congratulations to the cast and crew of _Hamilton_ for their 11 Tony wins! This show has my heart and soul and I'm so glad it's consistently being recognized for the incredible work it is.
> 
> My heart and soul also goes out to Orlando, FL. The victims and their families are in my prayers, as well as the entire LGBT+ community. The resilience and compassion and never ending stream of support pouring forth gives me hope that love will always win against hate. 
> 
> And as always, thanks for reading; we're back on our regular update schedule, so I'll see all of you next Sunday night! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	17. Look Around (Isn't This Enough?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New relationships, new shop locations, new employees, new cell phones.

Alex still didn't want to get out of bed. Rerunning the previous night's’ events had only taken a few minutes, and his blanket cocoon was warm and safe. He couldn't even hear anything going on outside; maybe his roommates weren't awake yet either. Thunder rumbled softly from outside, and it just seemed like a good day to hide in bed. 

His door opened and John slipped through the sliver of light, closing the door gently and padding in his socked feet across the floorboards. 

“Alex? You awake?” His voice was quiet and mellow. Alex rolled over in reply.

“ _Mmph_. Yes.”

“Good.” John fell on top of him, effectively squashing out any breath Alex still had in his lungs. He moved around a little bit, like a cat trying to get comfortable on a pillow, and ended up with his chin resting right on top of Alex’s head, his curtain of curly hair hanging down and obscuring Alex’s vision.

“John, get the _fuck_ off… Of…” Alex struggled, trying to move, but his blankets and John were a very effective trap. “I’m serious, Laurens, you gotta… _Hmmmph_...”

He made one more tremendous effort, pushing John off of him and onto the floor, accidentally kicking all of the blankets off, too. They fell in a pile on top of John, who looked more content than anyone who’d just fallen off of a sofa bed had any right to, smirking up at Alex, covered in blankets.

Before he knew what was happening, John shot up off the floor, wrestled him off of his own bed, throwing him to the ground. He hit heavily and blinked up at John for a few stunned seconds, who was still smirking, still covered in blankets, only now occupying Alex’s spot on the bed.

“You’re a dick, you know that?” Alex managed to get out. He was still a little winded.

“You’re really warm,” came John’s reply from his bed. “Like, this spot’s still really warm. Fuck work, I’m never leaving this really warm spot on your bed. Never, ever--”

“You know who else is a dick?” Alex interrupted. “That guy Jefferson, you know, from last night. I can’t stop thinking about--”

“We made out yesterday.” John propped himself up on one elbow, raising his eyebrows down at Alex on the floor. “Like, _repeatedly_. And you want to talk about Jefferson? I mean, if that’s what gets you off, but...”

He trailed off, eyebrows still raised disbelievingly.

Alex flipped over, pressing his (still very warm) back onto the cool hardwood floor.“Okay, fine, Laurens. You want to talk about us?”

The smirk returned, slowly spreading across John’s freckled face. 

“Oh, so we’re an _us_ now?”

Alex glanced over. John looked thrilled no matter what his casual tone implied, his curls wild and untamed, framed by the soft light coming from Alex’s lamp. 

“Do you want to be?”

And that’s when John freed himself from the blankets, dropping off of the couch right on top of Alex, catching himself before he hit with his full weight, hands planted firmly on either side of Alex’s head. 

“Fuck yeah,” he said, planting one quick, solid kiss on Alex’s nose before flipping off of him and dashing out the door. Alex followed, a little confused and still a little sleepy, rubbing both eyes with the heels of his hands. They were _so_ going to be late for work.

“So get this!” He heard John before he even saw him, in the kitchen with Lafayette and Herc, standing by the stove, animatedly waving his hands around. He was adorable, with his stupid tank top he’d won the last time he’d gone to the shore (it was black with pink block letters, _’Hey, I Don’t Like You, And This Is Crazy, But Here’s My Finger, So Fuck Off Maybe’_ ). 

He pointed at Alex.

“ _Alex Hamilton_ just asked me to be his _boyfriend_!”

Their other two roommates turned to him, Lafayette grinning almost as much as John, and Herc brandishing his spatula like a sword. Alex felt heat flooding to his face, he was probably bright red. He shoved his hands deeper into his sweatshirt pockets.

“You think you’re worthy of dating John Laurens?” Herc asked loudly, his booming voice rattling the plates in the cupboard. “Only the _worthy_ can answer these questions three--”

John rolled his eyes. “That’s it, you’re done with high fantasy _forever_.”

“Do you know how to preheat an oven?”

Alex cocked his head to the side. “Yes?”

“Have you done your own laundry at least twice in the past month?”

“Every three days for the past fifteen years, probably?”

“And, finally, can you put up with an incessant stream of patented John Laurens _bullshit_? Because, let me tell you, it hasn’t been easy--”

John laughed. “Fuck you, Mulligan!”

Alex looked over at John, taking his hands out of his sweatshirt pocket and standing up a little straighter than he had been. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Herc grabbed him by the shoulder and into a hug, bringing Lafayette and a still-laughing John into it as well. Just like they had the night previously, the four of them stood together, pancake smell mingling with Herc’s cologne mingling with Lafayette’s shampoo mingling with squeaks coming from Lafayette’s shirt pocket, presumably from Georges.

“We’re a real fucking family, guys,” Herc said, his voice muffled by Lafayette’s hair. “A weird-ass dysfunctional one, but it’s pretty nice.”

“Even though you’re the only one not in a relationship, Hercules,” Lafayette said as they broke apart. “We’ll have to fix that. Somehow.”

“ _Hey--_ ” Herc said indignantly, but then his eyes widened and he cackled, pointing at Lafayette. “You’re in a _relationship_?”

“No, no, that’s not what I… _I don’t speak English_ \--”

“That’s fucking incredible. I’m texting Adri right now.”

“Mulligan, don’t you dare--” Lafayette leaned over the island, trying to snatch Herc’s phone, but he was too quick. Herc raced around the living room, texting with one hand and keeping Lafayette one arm-length away with the other. In the midst of this, John gave Alex’s hand one quick squeeze before ducking down the hall to his own room. 

Alex dodged a flailing Lafayette arm and a firm, well-placed Herc slap to get back to his room, closing the door for a second to change into jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. He grabbed his bag, slipping his laptop and a legal pad inside as well as his zip-up bag full of pens. He had a feeling the shop wasn’t going to be that busy, maybe he’d be able to get some classwork done.

The four of them --Lafayette still glowering at Herc, Herc still grinning at Lafayette, Alex and John holding hands-- made their way to Libertea, only a couple of minutes late. No one was waiting outside the door, which was a good sign, and they set up in record time, Alex helping Lafayette set up the pastry case with everything he’d baked the night before.

Their first customer came into the shop fifteen minutes after John unlocked the front door, Theodosia still on his arm and an uncharacteristically wide grin still on his face. Alex wasn’t sure if he’d stopped smiling since the night before.

“Aaron!” John yelled from the bar. “Get the fuck over here so we can have it out. I can’t believe you’re cheating on me!”

“So you can make out with Hamilton but I can’t get married?” Burr claimed his normal seat and Theo put her purse on the one beside it before going over to the pastry case. “Your double standards are tearing our relationship apart, John.”

“Wow, a rebuttal! You’re in a good fucking mood, Burr.” John slid his Americano across the bar; the poop emoji had hearts for eyes. “I like engaged you. You should do this more often.”

Burr took a sip. “Hopefully once is enough.”

John snickered. “So, what’s your lady drink? Hopefully something good.”

“Can I order off-menu?” Theodosia moved her purse so she could sit down, setting her chocolate croissant on the bar and handing Burr a blueberry scone. John leaned his elbows on the counter, squinting right into her eyes.

Burr rolled his eyes. “Laurens, don’t--”

“What’s he doing?” Theodosia asked. Burr rolled his eyes again.

“He thinks he’s a coffee god. Or _something_. Thinks he can make you the best drink ever by just looking at you.”

“And does it work?”

Burr, for the third time, rolled his eyes. Looked at John. Looked at his Americano. Looked back over at Theodosia.

“Yeah. It works.”

“Off-menu, huh?” John said, still staring at her. “Hold on, I got it.”

He shot over to the espresso machine and, while Alex quizzed Theodosia (she had gone to school for elementary education, currently anonymously wrote for a mommy blog without having any kids herself, wanted to open up a preschool one day), John made her drink.

“There you go.” He pushed it across the counter. It was gorgeous, which was a word Alex had never applied to a drink before, but it was in a tall glass, not one of their usual cold cups, and had a thin black straw sticking out of the ice and caramel brown coffee. Thin drizzles of chocolate syrup dripped down the inside rim.

Theodosia took a sip. “ _Fuck!_ ”

She took another sip.

“How’d you know I love malted freddos?”

Another sip.

“You’re a wizard, aren’t you?”

John laughed. “Nine for nine.”

“Try it,” she said, sliding her drink down the bar, pushing it closer and closer to Burr until he caved and took a sip out of her straw. He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s okay. No double Americano, though.”

Theodosia nudged his arm. “Fine by me. Keep your boring-ass drink, little man.”

John leaned into Alex, nodding his head towards Theodosia. “I like her. She can stay.”

“So what’s the deal with you two?” Theodosia waggled her finger from Alex to John and from John back to Alex. “What was last night? Just a fluke, or are you two…” She crossed her pointer and middle fingers slowly and meaningfully.

John glanced over at Alex. “I’m not the one to throw the word _boyfriend_ around all casual-like, but he is, so…”

“Oh, shut up!” Alex pushed him with his shoulder. “You _suck_. Okay, so I asked him kind of officially this morning and he’s acting like an ass about it!”

“To be fair,” John said, “I act like an ass about everything.”

“This is true,” Lafayette said through the kitchen window.

“So you’re dating,” Theo concluded.

“So we’re dating.” John nodded.

“We’re dating,” Alex repeated.

“We’re _dating_.” John looked over at Alex, his eyes shining, reflecting the lightbulbs hanging over Libertea’s bar, grinning wildly. “ _Boyfriend_.”

“Y’all gross me out,” Herc said, coming behind them to grab a tea scoop off the wall. “I’m asking Washington to ban schmoopy talk from the shop _forever_. That’s right, I’ll pull a Charles Lee that one time he tried to ban you from singing Ariana Grande.”

This was to John, who cackled.

“Just because _”Focus”_ came out an hour before I worked, so that’s all I was listening to,” he said. “FU-FU-FU- _FOCUS ON ME_ \--”

Theodosia laughed as John leaned back and planted a kiss on Herc’s cheek.

“Don’t be jealous, Mulligan, I still love you.”

Herc made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, leaning against the counter and pulling out his phone. He read something, lifted his head, and scanned the shop.

“Would you say we’re busy?”

Alex canvassed the shop as well. “There’s an old lady at the corner table, the four of us, Burr, and Theodosia. We’re _packed_.”

“Overcapacity,” John agreed. “Why?”

“Peggy wants to know.”

John waggled his eyebrows and fixed his hairnet.

“ _Why_?”

“She’s restless, I think,” Herc said, texting. “They’re all at their apartment today with nothing to do. She wants to know if they should come down but Eliza doesn’t want to cause a, in her words, _ruckus_.”

“Eliza’s words or Peggy’s?”

“Does that _sound_ like something Peggy would say?”

John and Alex shook their heads at the same time. Theodosia put her hand on Burr’s as she finished her drink, sucking up the last of the chocolate sauce through her straw, and taking the rest off the rim of the glass with her finger.

“We should get going,” she said as soon as she was done, glancing over at Burr. “You should get ready for that interview today.”

“You’re getting a job?” Alex asked, raising an eyebrow. “What about the internship?”

“I’m still doing that,” Burr said, shooting an understated glare towards Theodosia, an understated glare meaning that he really didn’t want to talk about whatever they were talking about. “It’s unpaid, though, and I’m getting married now, so--”

“Even trust fund babies gotta think about the future.” Theodosia pressed her lips to Burr’s cheek quickly and chastely, taking his hand again and leading him towards the door. 

“Where at?” Alex called after him, but the two of them were gone, the string of bells jangling in their wake. John slid Alex his drink.

“Even engaged Burr is a padlocked vault,” he commented as Alex took a sip, turning the cup over in his hands. The doodle was on the opposite side of the Libertea logo; one of John’s weird flat-looking turtles.

“You gave me a turtle,” he commented. “You never give people turtles.”

“You’re not people,” John said, giving him the same too-fast kiss that Theodosia had given Burr, but on the lips, and lingering for half a second more. “You’re mine.”

Alex laughed and gave John a quick peck himself, tasting the bitter coffee on his lips. “Doesn’t mean I want your turtles, John, they look steamrolled.”

“That’s how they’re _supposed_ to--” John sighed loudly. “I’ll show you pictures later. Whatever. I’ll think of something else, promise.”

They went to work, filling orders, cleaning tables, making coffee, but they were never very far from each other. Behind the counter they were in each other’s space constantly, bumping hips, brushing arms, stepping on each other’s feet, but it was good. Alex relished every time John ran a hand across his shoulders, every time he tucked a stray strand of hair back into his hairnet, every time he filled up his drink, adding another heart next to the turtle’s head every time he did it.

There were four hearts on his cup by the time Washington entered the shop, wool coat on and collar turned up.

“I have good news,” he said, sitting at the mostly empty bar, accepting the cup John handed to him and shrugging off his coat. “There’s a property across town a ways that would be perfect for the new shop. Martha and I went by today and looked it over.”

“Libertwo,” John said. Washington nodded.

“Yes. Ah, _Libertwo_.”

John grinned. “I knew that shit would catch on.”

“The four of you should come by after you close up shop,” Washington continued. “I’ll make sure to be there. I want you to approve before I close the deal.”

John nodded enthusiastically. “We’ll be there!”

“As long as Jefferson doesn’t show up,” Alex said, joking, but Washington raised an eyebrow.

“Actually--”

Alex’s eyes widened and a chorus of _no, no, no, no_ started running through his brain. “No, sir, no, no, _no way_ , you gotta be shi--”

“Mr. Hamilton,” Washington said, sterner than he’d been all day, “I suggest you settle your differences with Mr. Jefferson sooner rather than later. I don’t want dissention among my employees any more than you do, I’m sure.”

“What do you mean, employees?” Alex shot back. “You didn’t _hire_ that asshole, did you?”

“For Libertwo, yes, I did.” Washington said like it was final. “That asshole is your coworker, Mr. Hamilton, and I don’t often command you to do things, son, but I command that you be civil to your coworkers. All of them.”

“Who else is going to work there?” John said quickly, stepping closer to Alex, who was fuming, and putting one hand on his forearm. 

“I hired a man named Adams to do sort of the same things Lafayette does there,” Washington said. “A sort of assistant manager. I knew him back in my real-estate days. A little dry, but he’s a good man.”

“And Jefferson--”

“Yes, I also hired Thomas, as well as James, and I’m still on the hunt for another part-time barista, so if you know anyone, send them my way.” He stood, took another sip of coffee, and looked the two of them over. “I just came by quickly to see how you were doing; I’m conducting interviews at Libertwo in an hour or so. Text me if you need anything.”

He threw his cup away and left. Alex dropped his head onto the bar.

“I can’t work with fucking _Jefferson_!”

“He’s going to be halfway across the city.” John ran a hand down Alex’s back. “You’ll never see him; Washington knows you well enough to keep him far away from you.”

“You think?”

“Think? I fuckin’ _hope_.”

Alex rolled his eyes from the safety of his arm cocoon. He heard someone else come and lean on the bar next to him and John, and that same someone patted him on the head. Lafayette.

“What happened?”

“Washington hired Jefferson for Libertwo,” John replied. “Now Alex is all deflated. Like a fuckin’ three-day-old party balloon.”

“I can’t say anything,” Lafayette said, “because I like Thomas, and I also like Alex. I’m staying out of it. The commander hired his friend, too, right?”

“Madison, yeah. How’d you know?”

“The commander asked me if it would be a good idea,” Lafayette said. “And it is. You can’t have Thomas without Madison. He’d drive even me insane.”

“He also hired some dude named Adams. Know anything about that?”

Alex lifted his head in time to see Lafayette shrug. “I met John Adams once, and there’s nothing I can really say about him. He’s not very interesting. Hopefully he’ll be a good manager, though. Boring people usually are.”

“You know you’re the manager here, right?” Alex asked. Lafayette swatted him.

“Don’t act like you don’t know who’s the best,” he said. “ _C’est moi._ ”

The door slammed open with a crash of bells, making Alex jump and John flinch. Peggy raced inside, laughing, her hair undone and her bright red lipstick smudged, and Eliza wasn’t too far behind.

“Margarita Schuyler, I’m going to _kill you_!” 

“You’re going to _kiss me_?” Peggy asked, ducking behind the bar to hide from her sister. “Looks like someone already got to you!”

There was a large red lipstick kiss right in the middle of Eliza’s forehead, a little smeared, but recognizable as a pair of lips nonetheless. Suddenly, the smudginess of Peggy’s lipstick, correlated with how pissed off Eliza was, made perfect sense.

“You’re not allowed to be behind here,” Lafayette said, looking Peggy up and down, “and as the manager, I…” He trailed off, unable to hold back a grin.

“Nice one,” Peggy said, swatting at Eliza from across the counter, “you almost had me there.”

“You’re so annoying,” Eliza said, hitting back at her sister from the bar stool she’d chosen, closest to the pastry case. “Has anyone ever told you you’re adopted?”

Peggy slapped a hand to her heart. “How _dare you_ \--”

“You’re adopted?” Herc asked, coming out of the kitchen with one of Lafayette’s trays of chocolate chip cookies. He slid it onto the counter and Peggy grabbed three, handing one to Eliza, one over her shoulder to Herc, and biting into the last one. “I didn’t know that.”

“I mean,” Peggy replied through a mouthful of cookie, “we all have different skin colors, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Hey, man,” Herc said, “I wasn’t about to ask.”

“Angelica’s not,” Eliza said after her third bite of cookie. “She’s the spitting image of our mom. But me and Peggy? Adopted as hell.”

“So, you’re from…” John trailed off.

“I was born in Illinois,” she said, laughing. “There’s a lot of babies to adopt in America, John.”

“Brooklyn!” Peggy said, pointing both thumbs at herself. John high-fived her, cookie to cookie.

“New Yorkers, born and raised!”

Herc shot him a look. “You were _born and raised_ in South Carolina, you idiot.”

“No, man, it’s more of a _state of mind_ type thing. You know, Jay Z and shit.”

Herc rolled his eyes, ducking back into the kitchen, and Peggy followed. Lafayette caught Alex’s gaze and waggled his eyebrows, and Alex returned it. They were in the kitchen for a few minutes while the three of them and Eliza argued over the best cookie flavor (Alex and John were both in favor of double chocolate chip, Lafayette was a fan of anything with macadamia, and Eliza loved oatmeal raisin, which, according to John, automatically made her opinion garbage).

Eventually Peggy and Herc emerged, both with more trays of pastries for the display, but Peggy giggled more than usual, and Herc may or may not have giggled a few times, himself.

**Herc**

AH: What’s going on with you and P?

HM: nothing, bro

AH: sure

HM: and tell laf to stop fucking wiggling his eyebrows @ me

HM: it’s freaking me out

“Alex,” Eliza said, holding out her hand, “I almost forgot. Give me your phone.”

“Why?” he asked, holding onto his phone even tighter. “I know it’s old, Eliza, and I know you can play _Snake_ on it, but that’s about the full extent of its draw--”

“You can play _Snake_ on that thing?” John asked, snatching the phone out of his grip. “How come you never told me? _Snake_ ’s the shit, dude, everyone knows that--”

“And give me _that_...” Eliza said, plucking it out of John’s hand and dropping it into her purse. She slid a box across the bar. “From me. Call it a job-well-done present, for all those videos you made. For letting us be a part of it.”

Alex took the lid off of the present a little apprehensively, picking up a tangle of headphones and a charger to find an iPhone, caseless and with a tiny little crack in the upper right hand corner. “I can’t accept this, Eliza, you know that!”

“Come on, Alex, yes you can,” she insisted. “It’s my old one. My dad got a new phone as a gift that he doesn’t need so he gave it to me, and that one’s already paid off, all you need to do is keep paying for service. It’s a _present_ , let me give it to you.”

“I think it’s the same as mine,” Lafayette said, leaning over his shoulder to get a better look. “I think I have an extra case at home you can use. You really shouldn’t have your first smartphone and not keep a case on it, _ami_ , especially when you’re used to throwing your phone around like a madman.”

“It’s true,” John said offhandedly, “I think he threw it against the wall for fun once.”

“It was an accident,” Alex said, turning the iPhone over and over in his hands. It was black and sleek, and it was a lot nicer than his old phone. And the number that kept texting him pictures didn’t have this number; if it meant freedom from _that_ black cloud, maybe it was worth it. 

“Just say thank you and accept it,” Eliza pushed. “I erased everything of mine already, but I kept my number in there, you know, so you can finally text me emojis.”

“Ooh, ooh, put mine in,” Peggy said, squishing herself on Alex’s other side. Numbers came from all sides, and soon he had Peggy’s (accompanied by flanking bomb emojis), Washington’s, the main number for Libertea (with a teacup and an American flag next to it), Angelica’s, Burr’s, and all of his roommates’. John’s name had a red heart next to it. He didn’t put it, Peggy did, but he also didn’t erase it.

“Do you want Thomas’s number?” Lafayette asked as Alex went through the contact list of his old phone, thumbing in Madison’s number under the contact name “J. Madz”. Alex rolled his eyes.

“Hard pass.”

“We work with the dude now,” Herc said from behind Lafayette, “you probably should have his number.”

“We don’t work _with_ him,” Alex argued. “We work semi-adjacent to him. Miles apart. Hopefully.”

“I doubt Libertwo’s gonna be _miles_ away,” John said, grinning when Alex glared over at him. “Sorry, babe, that’s just how it is.”

“Oh my GOD,” Herc yelled, “Laurens just called Hamilton _babe_. It’s happening. The end of the fucking world. The historians predicted it. I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Shut up, Mulligan,” John said over his shoulder. “You can be flower boy at our wedding.”

“WEDDING--”

“Move past it, move past it,” John continued, taking both Alex’s phone and Lafayette’s, typing Jefferson’s number under the contact name “Asshole Supreme”. “We haven’t even been dating for twenty-four hours yet, and the wedding’s already in full planning mode.”

“Can I be your maid of honor?” Eliza asked, batting her eyelashes at John. 

“I’m walking Alex down the aisle,” Peggy said, raising her hand high over her head. “Did everyone hear that? Because I called it.”

“You’re all assholes,” Alex said. His cheeks were red, he just knew it. John leaned over and kissed the side of his forehead. 

“You embarrassed my boyfriend,” he said, throwing Eliza’s half-eaten cookie at Peggy. It grazed her leg, and she retaliated by whipping a damp dishtowel back at him, hard enough that it curled around his arm and stayed there. “Ow, Schuyler, what the hell! You have a fuckin’ _arm_!”

She shrugged one shoulder. “What can I say. Growing up with Ang kind of makes self-defense a priority.”

“What about me?” Angelica asked, stepping into the shop. She was dressed more casually than Alex had ever seen her; skinny jeans and boots and a slouchy long sleeved shirt. “Seriously, Peg, I’m like a half-hour late and you’re already talking shit?” 

“We’re just talking about you and… What’s his name? Your boyfriend?”

Eliza hit her arm. “Peggy Schuyler, Angelica can sleep with who she wants and she doesn’t have to date them if she doesn’t want to. You know that.”

Peggy saluted Angelica with another cookie. “Sleep with as many douchebags as you want. That’s _feminism_.”

“I’m not sleeping with fucking Thomas Jefferson,” Angelica said, coming up to the bar and taking a cookie for herself. “I can promise you that.”

“Although,” she cocked her head to the side and winked at Peggy, “I could if I wanted to.”

Alex made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “Why would you even _want_ to? I mean, what’s the draw?”

“Yeah, really,” Peggy said. “What’s the draw, besides his money and his nice car and that damn _hair_ , right?” Alex rolled his eyes.

“Not helping.”

Herc took the pan of cookies back into the kitchen as John swept up and Lafayette locked the door, the Schuylers still in their seats as Alex cleaned the counter. Eliza handed him his old phone back; the battery was already dead and he had no inclination of charging it ever again. His new phone weighed heavily in his pocket, but he liked it. It was something he could get used to.

(And he’d already snapped a picture of John, behind the bar with the colonial flag hanging behind him, and he planned on setting it as his lock screen background as soon as he figured out how to.)

“You guys are coming with us, right?” he asked, picking up his backpack and slinging it over his shoulders. The books were still in there; he hadn’t picked up a pencil that entire day. “Washington found a place for our second location and we’re going over there to check it out.”

“You in?” Herc asked, leaning over the counter and talking to Peggy specifically. She glanced at her sisters.

“Sure.”

“Alex, toss me your keys. I’ll unlock so we can get out,” Angelica said.

He threw her his keyring, making a wide gesture at Libertea’s front door and the New York streets beyond.

“By all means, lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Are you ready for a cabinet meeting???
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	18. If The Shoe Fits, Wear It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington shows his employees around Libertwo, and has a heart-to-heart with one, concerning another.

“I still can’t believe Washington hired that douchebag,” Alex muttered. John gave his hand a firm squeeze, a _shut up for once_ squeeze. They continued on down the street, bringing up the end of the group. Herc was in the lead, flanked by Lafayette and his phone’s GPS (Washington had texted him the address right as they were locking up the shop) on his left, and Peggy on his right. Angelica and Eliza were in the center, sharing earbuds and looking at some video on Eliza’s phone.

Alex wasn’t sure if Washington’s invitation for them to check out the new Libertwo location extended to the Schuyler sisters, but he figured since the testimonies, Washington kind of owed them one. And, he thought, watching Angelica stick her foot out to trip Eliza and grabbing her arm at the same time to make sure she didn’t really trip, they were part of the family. 

John’s fingers twitched as he repositioned them in Alex’s grip, pressing their palms together and moving in until their coats brushed with every step they took. He leaned in close.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asked, his loose curls brushing Alex’s shoulder as he turned to look up at him. “Don’t tell me you’re still on Jefferson. I’ve never really been into that polygamy stuff, and that’s probably something you should discuss with your significant other, right?”

Alex kicked John’s shin, almost tripping himself as they walked.

“I wasn’t thinking about _him_ , I was thinking about us. Not, like _us_ ,” he amended as John wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, “but _us_. The seven of us. The Libertea family.”

“There’s more than that,” John said. “Seven plus Washington and Martha is nine. And as much as I want to, we can’t leave out Burr, which makes eleven, ‘cause if you have Burr you gotta have Theo. And if we’re adding Theo we should add Adri, because Laf said she played a big role in getting Franklin here from France, and that’s what partially saved us, anyway. And Laf’s fuckin’ crazy about her, so--”

“Okay, okay, so there’s more than the seven of us,” Alex amended, taking John’s hand again. “We have a big family.”

“The biggest,” he agreed, and they kept walking.

The first thing Alex noticed about the location Washington picked for the new shop was the buildings surrounding it; skyscrapers and office buildings, none of the smaller businesses that filled the street the original Libertea was on. He was suddenly grateful that he was part of the old shop’s staff, and even though he’d just worked an entire shift there, felt a wave of nostalgia for the hardwood floor and the warm lighting.

“This is very.... Chrome,” he commented, looking up at the office building that Libertwo would make up the first floor of. “I can’t see Washington liking this very much.”

“You’d be surprised,” Herc said, holding the door open for Peggy first, followed by the rest of her sisters. “Washington’s a businessman, and if this is what’s best for the business…” He ushered Lafayette inside, then John, and let Alex go before him, too. “Then I trust him.”

“Gentlemen,” Washington said, opening his arms wide in the center of the shop and nodding to the Schuylers, “and ladies. Welcome to Libertwo.”

The inside of the shop was completely gutted. Naked lightbulbs hung from the open ceiling, steel beams criss-crossing overhead. The place must have been some sort of food establishment beforehand, because Alex could see a swinging door like the one they had at Libertea, along with a wider window space looking into an updated kitchen area. That was gutted as well, except for a wide oven and a range.

Lafayette peeked into the kitchen. “We can work with this.”

“It isn’t fully ours yet,” Washington said. “I haven’t signed the papers, but I think it’s our best bet. Once Thomas and James arrive, I’ll give you all a tour.”

“I think we’re looking at it,” Peggy muttered, and Alex heard the sharp _oof_ of exhaled breath as Angelica elbowed her in the ribs. 

“We don’t have to wait for them,” Alex offered. “I’m sure they’ll be able to figure it out fine on their own--”

The door slammed open, cutting him off. Jefferson was the first one inside, throwing the end of a statement Alex hadn’t heard the beginning of over his shoulder at Madison, who entered in the middle of an eye roll.

“George,” Jefferson said, striding past Alex, John, and Eliza, “tell Jemmy over here that it’s insane he hasn’t seen the _Star Wars_ prequels. Come on. You can’t watch the originals without watching the prequels, too.”

Madison rolled his eyes again. “I _told_ you, I have no interest in the prequels. I’ve seen pictures of Jar Jar Binks, and I’m good.”

Washington looked thoroughly lost, and Peggy crossed her arms.

“The prequels sucked.”

“The only good thing about the prequels was Hayden Christensen,” Angelica agreed from across the shop. John made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.

“Really? Try Ewan McGregor.”

“The prequels had better duels,” Jefferson said, counting off on his fingers like he’d had this exact argument before, “the effects were better, and _Jango Fett_ \--”

“You would like the prequels,” Alex muttered. Jefferson turned his head, his eyes roving slowly over Alex, like he had all the time in the world. 

“Morning, Hamilton.”

Alex quirked an eyebrow. “It’s six thirty. That’s P.M., not A.M.”

“Well, _someone_ woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“ _Anyway,_ ” Herc said loudly, clapping his hands once as Alex glared over his shoulder, “Commander, what do you have planned for this place?”

Washington, either unaware of the evil eye contest going on between Alex and Jefferson, or not caring in the least, moved to the center of the group. He circled once as Jefferson made his way to the other side of the circle, planting himself between Madison and Angelica, directly across from Alex.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Washington started again, “you could have been anywhere in the world tonight, but you’re here with me in what has been dubbed _Libertwo_ \--” John nudged Alex in the side, unable to keep his wild grin hidden “--and, if you’re ready, we’re going to have a meeting.”

“We’re ready, sir,” Lafayette said, and Alex didn’t miss Washington’s quick smile.

“The new manager for this store, John Adams, couldn’t make it tonight due to family reasons, but I’m more than happy to relay this information to him later.” 

“I thought this was an employees only affair,” Jefferson butted in, shooting a smirk over to Angelica. “Unless you just hired an entire family to sit here and look pretty.”

“Isn’t that what you were hired to do?” Alex asked, ignoring Herc’s groan and someone, presumably Lafayette, kicking the back of his shin. He didn’t care what they thought of Jefferson, all he cared about was John snickering beside him and the light warmth of John’s shoulder pressing into his.

“Aw, Alex, you think I’m pretty?” Jefferson passed a hand over his hair, his fire-bright eyes burning a hole into Alex’s forehead even from across the room. “I do occasionally swing that way, but you’re not really my _type_.”

On Jefferson’s left side, Angelica tensed. 

On Jefferson’s right side, Madison tensed more, if that was possible.

“The Schuylers are here because they are valued patrons,” Washington continued, raising an eyebrow at Jefferson, “and they made just as much effort to save Libertea as anyone in this room. They even made a little _more_ effort than some, I could say.”

Jefferson didn’t look ashamed (Alex wasn’t even sure if that word was in his vocabulary), but he did pass another, more subdued hand over his hair, and didn’t say another word.

“The issue we’re facing,” Washington continued, “is one of style. If we set up shop in this building, we’re looking at more businesses than the original Libertea has. More corporate settings, more suits and ties coming through those doors than we have back on our more neighborhood centric block.”

He took off his coat and draped it over one arm before going on. “What I’m thinking is this; we can either go with the same style as the original Libertea, or we can try something new. Keep a little of the metallic, big-city feel this building has, incorporate it into a new design for a new building.”

“But it’s not a new company,” Alex broke in. He loved change, _lived_ for change, but a total uproot from what the original Libertea looked like? He wasn’t sure if he could stand to see that happen. “What happens when people see the name _Sons Of Libertea_ but it’s a whole new look? We want our customers to be at home here, right? Same as our shop?”

“I think a facelift could be good,” Jefferson said, raising and dropping one shoulder in a nonchalant way that had Alex fuming. “New clientele, new location. Makes sense to me.”

“Not if it erases everything Libertea _is_ ,” Alex said through gritted teeth. “Mrs. Ross’s flag sign, the aprons, the colonial soldier open and close sign, doesn’t any of that make it over to Libertwo? Or are we just going to sell out, become all corporate and _chrome_?”

“What’s wrong with chrome?” Jefferson asked, taking a step forward at the same time that Alex did. Washington raised an eyebrow, arms crossed, still in the center of the room like a moderator. “What’s wrong with shiny? What’s wrong with _new_?”

“Nothing at all,” Alex replied, “except when it threatens the future of, I don’t know, my _job_. Keep the design the same, keep the nostalgia the same. That’s what attracts our customers, that’s what makes us money!”

“So it’s all about _money_.”

“Of course it’s all about money,” John broke in from behind Alex. “It’s a fucking business.”

Alex fought the urge to either high-five John or kiss him (he wasn’t fully aware yet that he and John were a couple, and the fact that he was allowed to kiss him still blindsided him every once in a while), and crossed his arms, leering towards Jefferson.

“The colonial theme makes money. End of discussion.”

“And who knows if that’ll fly here?” Jefferson returned. “We’re in the _business district_ , Hammy, and who likes sharp edges and clean lines?” He glanced over at Madison. “Back me up, here, Mad. Who likes chrome shit?”

Madison glanced briefly up at the ceiling. 

“Businessmen.”

“When in Rome, do as the Romans do,” Jefferson concluded, crossing his arms in what might have been an exact mockery of Alex’s pose. “Boom.”

“And that’s exactly why we have to be different,” Alex said quickly. “Swim upstream. Make good coffee in an atmosphere that’s different from anything else on this block. _Stand out_. Be aggressive. Competitive. You’d rather us be dull, right? Shoot Libertwo in the foot with some sort of boring ass sedative before we can even get off the ground.”

“You don’t have to see any of it,” Jefferson said, “you’re over at Libertea. Worry about your own shop, _Hamilton_.”

“They’re the same shop,” Alex replied, taking a step forward at the same time that Jefferson did. “If one goes under, the other has a good chance of, too, so why don’t you get your head out of your--”

“Mr. Hamilton,” Washington said, but Jefferson stepped in front of him.

“No, I’d like to hear what he has to say. Get my head out of where, exactly?”

“Get your head out of your _ass_ ,” Alex said, “so there’s room for my _foot_!”

“Excuse me!” Washington said as John stifled a cackle and Madison ran both hands over his head, “Thomas, James, take a _walk_. The rest of you, take a walk. We’ll reconvene in a minute or two. Mr. Hamilton, a word.”

He spun on his heel and went into the kitchen. Alex made to follow him as the rest of his friends slowly filed out of the shop, but Jefferson stepped right in front of him, blocking his path.

“You really think you can undermine me like that, huh?” Jefferson asked, arms already crossed like he was going into war. “Washington and I go way back, you know that, right? Where did you even _come_ from?”

“Thomas.” Madison put one hand on Jefferson’s shoulder but he shrugged it off, his eyes boring holes into Alex’s. Alex didn’t care, he just glared back, nonplussed by Jefferson’s height or his tensed muscles or his angry eyes. He faced people like Jefferson every day, people who only cared about themselves, who only saw the quickest way to the top, who didn’t care who they stepped on to get there.

_I know your game_ , he thought as he glared right back and sidestepped them both, making his way through the rubble and not looking back once.

•••

“Mr. Hamilton,” Washington said as soon as the door swung shut behind Alex. The kitchen was in the same state as the rest of the shop; unfinished and messy, but Alex could see where they could make it just as homey as Libertea. The industrial oven taking up one side could be cleaned and re-fitted, and he could almost picture one of Herc’s embroidered hand towels swinging from the handle, some of Lafayette’s orange scones baking and some cookies cooling on the rack above it. 

“Alexander,” Washington repeated, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Sir?”

Washington sighed and passed a hand over his head, and Alex knew he was just barely keeping calm. 

“You know how hard we’ve worked to get this far, right, son?”

“Of course,” Alex said quickly, “that’s why I want to help, keep this place the way it should be, and--”

“We _are_ keeping it the same.” Washington planted his hands on the dirty countertop, looking away from Alex like he’d rather be anywhere but the gutted shell of future Libertwo. “Of course we’re keeping it the same, Alexander, but this is _diplomacy_. I need to let everyone have their say, I need to keep everyone’s opinions in mind.”

“But mine’s _right_ \--”

“I like yours, as well.” Washington turned to face him, running his hands over his head again. “But Thomas works here now, too, and so does James, and I need to consider their ideas as much as I consider yours, or Mr. Laurens’, or anyone else’s. We need to work together.”

“But I was _right_.”

Washington crossed his arms. “You need to find a way to meet in the middle.”

“But Madison hasn’t even talked to me since that douchebag came home, and--”

“Figure it out, Alexander.” Washington pointed towards the kitchen door and the rest of the shop, and Alex later swore that the corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a smile. “That’s an order from your commander.”

•••

Washington had called them all back in and took them around the shop, pointing out where he envisioned the counter would be, how he thought the seating should be arranged, and other design ideas, but always leaving the peculiarities up to debate. Alex did his best to keep his mouth shut, and he did a pretty good job.

Or, he did a pretty good job when anyone other than Jefferson was talking.

Lafayette suggested tile flooring in the kitchen instead of the hardwood the original Libertea had. It would be easier to clean and more sanitary, and Alex supported it.

John suggested having a smaller main table than the one they had at Libertea. More people came as couples or alone, rather than in big groups, and it would make more sense to have more seating, and Alex supported it.

Eliza suggested making a designated spot for artists to display work, and maybe even a corner for live music on Friday nights; it could help make it feel more homey and integrate the new shop into the community, and Alex supported it. He even said they should think about making that change for the original Libertea, as well.

Jefferson suggested cloth napkins, and Alex almost lost his damn mind.

_Who’s going to wash the cloth napkins?_ he thought as Washington wrote it down on the yellow legal pad he’d pulled out of his messenger bag. _It won’t be you, I guarantee that, and none of us want to sit around for five hours a day just so you can keep your_ aesthetic _or whatever you’re trying to accomplish here--_

But he kept his mouth shut. Kept it shut through the rest of the tour as Lafayette leaned over Washington’s shoulder, making additions to his legal pad sketch of the kitchen. Kept it shut as Angelica, inexplicably, pulled a ruler out of her purse and helped Madison measure a spot for the counter. Kept it shut as Washington ushered them out of Libertwo, thanking them for their time and assuring them he’d keep them updated, but he still had interviews to run before the sun went down.

(John asked him who had applied, but Washington was a padlocked vault.)

Their group parted in front of Libertwo; Eliza hailed a cab for her and her sisters, and both the new and old Libertea employees headed up the street in a tight clump. Jefferson had parked in a garage a few blocks over, and he and Lafayette were in a deep discussion about some restaurant in France that they both loved and was apparently closing in a month.

“--can just fly over some weekend whenever you’re free,” Jefferson was saying as Alex rolled his eyes behind him. He was walking in the front of the group, Lafayette on his left and Madison on his right. “Mads has never been, we could make a whole trip of it.”

Jefferson elbowed Madison in the ribs, and, much to Alex’s delight, Madison didn’t look too thrilled about it.

“I’m not going to France, Thomas, I go to _school_.”

“But a _weekend--_ ”

“Homework.”

Jefferson did something towards Madison that really could only be described as a pout.

“Come on. They have pencils in France. Probably more than they have here. Paper, too. Lined, unlined. Calculators. Erasers.” Jefferson poked at his arm with every word until Madison cracked a smile, leaning into his side for a brief second before continuing up the street.

“We talked about this, _extensively_ , and I’m not changing my mind.”

They made a left turn as a group, Jefferson pointing out the parking garage in the distance. John linked arms with Alex as they stepped exaggeratedly over cracks in the sidewalk and took turns pointing out weird shapes in the red and orange splattered sunset clouds.

“That one looks like a moustache,” John muttered, soft enough that Alex almost didn’t catch it. “Or, like, half a moustache. Like, some guy had a really fuckin’ bad barber, and just shaved of half his ‘stache.”

“Inchworm,” Alex replied. John nudged him with his elbow.

“The letter _S_ , for _Alex sucks_.”

Just because he could, Alex leaned over and kissed John’s cheek, right on top of a dense sprinkle of freckles. His skin was sun-warm and soft, and Alex managed to steal two more kisses before John pulled away, punching his shoulder for good measure.

Herc ducked between them, pulling them both close as the group entered the garage. They walked like that for a while, awkwardly six-legged-racing their way through the lines of cars, Alex sometimes tripping over his own feet and sometimes tripping over Herc’s. They ended up in a tangle of limbs by Jefferson’s bright purple car, cracking up at nothing.

“Get your big ass feet out of here, Mulligan,” Alex said, extricating himself from the tangle of legs, almost tripping and falling over in the process. John’s shoe had come off, and he was sitting on the ground, still laughing as he tried to put it back on. Herc kicked out at him, and he jumped aside just in time.

“Dude,” John said, standing up, “this is your car, right?”

This was to Jefferson, who leaned on it like he’d been leaning on collectible cars all of his life. “1969 Lamborghini Espada. Got it last year at a show. Custom paint job.”

“I know jack-shit about cars,” John said, circling it, “but this is a nice ass car. Why are you working for Washington if you’re this fucking rich?”

Jefferson lifted and dropped one shoulder. “I’ve known Washington for a long time, and I have nothing better to do. If I can help out around here, why not?”

He nudged Madison again.

“And Mads is really excited to spend time with me in the workplace, right?”

Madison looked over. “Gross.”

Jefferson laughed, head thrown back, teeth showing, the whole nine yards, pressing his shoulder into Madison’s as they both leaned back against the purple car backdrop. 

“You love me,” he said, before turning to the rest of the group. “Speaking of things he loves, I’ve been crashing in his student housing since I got back from France, and as _fun_ as that’s been--”

“You’re a brat,” Madison muttered.

“--I need to speed up my apartment search. I texted Angelica yesterday, but she was _very adamant_ about how far away I should stay from her apartment building--”

“ _At least two continents away_ were her exact words,” Madison clarified. Herc nodded.

“Sounds like her.”

“--I _need_ to get out of that fucking student housing,” Jefferson concluded, “so if y’all have any suggestions or leads, I’m open to anything.”

Alex took a beat, thought about Washington, and decided that telling Jefferson that he could take his Espada and sleep in the Lincoln Tunnel for all he cared was _not_ appropriate coworker behavior, and kept his mouth shut. Lafayette, however, did not.

“There’s a place in our building,” he said.

“ _Fucking hell--_ ” Alex started, but Jefferson came off the car, pointing right at Lafayette.

“No way.”

Lafayette shrugged, whether at Jefferson or Alex, he couldn’t tell. “It’s the floor above us. I heard that they’re moving out next week. It might already be rented to someone else, but it’s worth checking out.”

“Gilbert du Motier, I swear to God--” Alex started again, speaking slowly and carefully through clenched teeth, but Jefferson was already grinning. 

“I’ll have to see about that,” he said, talking to Lafayette, but his sharp grin was aimed straight for Alex. “It sounds like it’s worth looking into.”

Before Alex could reply, before he could say that there was absolutely nothing in the world more repulsive to him than the idea of Jefferson living above him, that having Jefferson’s Espada parked in the garage beside their apartment building would make him want to puke every time he thought about it, he and Madison were already pulling away. He rounded on Lafayette instead.

“You have to be joking, Laf, _that guy_? You want _that guy_ living above us?”

Lafayette shrugged again. “We’re friends, Alex, that’s what friends do. It’s good for us, too, if I suggest good tenants and they actually rent, we get a cut off of our rent, too.”

“But _Jefferson_?”

For the third time in a matter of seconds, Lafayette shrugged. “I don’t mind him.”

“Yeah, because he wants to go on French excursions with you and Madison and his _fucking_ Lamborghini, and oh my God, I can’t believe he’s going to live in the _same building as us_ \--”

“Come on, come on.” John looped his arm around Alex. “Let’s get home before Gil rents half of your room out to Jefferson and you wake up tomorrow morning with a new roommate.”

“I know you’re joking,” Alex said, glaring back at Lafayette, who was in the middle of an eye roll, as they left the parking garage, “but if that happens I’m literally never forgiving any of you.”

•••

“Cream or tomato?” Lafayette yelled from the kitchen. Herc, John, and Alex had piled onto the sofa as soon as they walked in the door, Herc had turned on _The Food Network_ , and the three of them had slowly gotten very into an episode of _Cutthroat Kitchen_ as Lafayette cooked dinner.

“There’s no fuckin’ way they’re gonna make it,” John said, his head on Alex’s stomach and his legs sprawled across Herc’s lap. Alex’s hand was tangled in his hair, and he was slowly scratching his fingers along his scalp. “They’re on a tandem bike, for fuck’s sake, I can’t even cook when I’m on my own two feet.”

“We know,” Herc said from the other end of the couch. Alex kicked him.

“Be nice. It’s not John’s fault he doesn’t know a whisk from a spatula.”

John rammed the top of his head into Alex’s chest. “Shut up, Hamilton!”

Alex laughed, playing with John’s curls and only half paying attention to whatever drama was happening on the TV screen. He was warm and good smells were coming from the kitchen and John’s hair was soft. He could’ve stayed like that forever.

“I said,” Lafayette yelled again, “cream or tomato? I’m never making homemade pasta ever again for you ungrateful--”

“Tomato!” Herc bolted off of the sofa, knocking John to the ground, who pulled Alex along with him. Alex landed squarely on top of John, but was off of him in a heartbeat, following Herc into the kitchen.

“I want tomato, too,” he said, sitting down right as Lafayette slid four plates onto the table, spooning tomato sauce onto two and cream onto the others. Herc uncorked a bottle of white wine and grabbed four glasses out of the cabinet as John untangled himself from a blanket on the floor, flipped off the TV, and joined them. 

Alex passed the salt and pepper grinders to John as Lafayette handed out forks and spoons and Herc took a bagged salad out of the fridge and dumped it into a wooden bowl. Lafayette poured the wine and lifted his glass, and the rest of them followed suit.

“To Libertwo,” he said.

“To Libertwo,” they echoed. John’s foot nudged Alex’s.

“And to Libertea,” Lafayette continued. “And the best group of employees Washington’s ever had, bar none.”

“Hear, hear!” Herc clinked his glass to John’s, and the sound of glass on glass filled the apartment. 

“So, what are we doing for the rest of the night?” Lafayette asked, twirling a fork into his pile of pasta. John drained his wineglass.

“I, for one, am going to get a nice nighttime drink on, finish this bomb ass pasta, go back to that couch right over there, and see if you really can make a frittata while riding with some other dude on a tandem bike.”

“That,” Herc said, pointing his fork at John, “sounds like a plan.”

John poured himself another glass of wine. “Also, what the hell is a frittata?”

Alex laughed and took a big bite of pasta and sauce. John was right, it was delicious. 

Lafayette slid his phone over to Herc, who was in the middle of another bite. “What if we did something else, you know, instead of that?”

Herc raised an eyebrow at the phone. “All right. I’m down.”

He pushed it across the table to John. Alex read over his shoulder.

**Thomas J.**

TJ: so laf i found this club n get this

TJ: it’s pretty close to ur place

GdM: Really?

TJ: i convinced mads to try it out, he gave me an hr tops

TJ: yall should come with us

GdM: Meaning who?

TJ: all yall. even the short one whos always pissed @ me

GdM: Thomas.

TJ: fine fine… alex. whatvr. u sound like mads

GdM: I’ll ask

TJ: tell em ill be there looking seeexxyyy

GdM: Somehow I don’t think that’ll be a dealbreaker

TJ: lmaooo

“You want to go to a club with this guy?” Alex asked, handing Lafayette his phone back.

“It could be fun,” John said, slumping in his chair when Alex looked accusingly over at him. “Come on, babe, we’ve never been out somewhere like this together. I promise to grind on you if you go.”

“Fuck, Laurens, are you drunk already?” Herc asked, laughing. “You had like two glasses of wine, come on, man.”

John shook his head, his wide eyes the epitome of _slightly buzzed, trying to act sober_. “I just really want to grind on Alex.”

“What about _Cutthroat Kitchen_?” Alex asked, grasping at straws. He almost didn’t care about Jefferson, the prospect of being in a dark room with alcohol, good music, and John was becoming more and more appealing. He hadn’t been to a club in what felt like ages, and never with someone like John Laurens.

“It’s on a marathon,” Herc said, stacking the dishes and sliding them into the sink in a muted _crash_. “Come on, kids, get your good clothes out. We’re going clubbing, and we gotta out-sexy Thomas Jefferson _somehow_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Cabinet Battle #1, part 2, featuring a dance club, touchy-feely John, and just plain touchy Alex. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	19. Why He Even Brings The Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew heads to the club, and it goes about as well as can be expected.

“This is disgraceful,” Herc commented. 

He picked up a shirt and threw it to the side. Every item of clothing Alex owned was strewn in front of him, and he kept doing the same thing, plucking pieces off the ground, judging them, and tossing them across the room. 

“You know there's more to life than plain t-shirts and jeans, right, Hamilton?” 

“I have style, Herc,” Alex argued, pulling the button-up he'd worn to the bank out of one pile. “Like this. This is nice.”

“Nice doesn't pay the bills.” Herc rolled his eyes and dumped a pile of rumpled clothes onto Alex’s lap. “I'm going to find you something in my room. You find some pants and maybe a pair of shoes that don't make me want to set you on fire.”

“If I call you a fashionista, will you hit me?” Alex asked Herc's back as he left the room. 

“Fuck you!” Herc yelled, already halfway down the hall. 

Alex grinned as he dug through his piles of clothes. He really needed to invest in a dresser, or at least some cardboard boxes or something. John had recently brought up going to Ikea again, but they'd need a car, and Alex was intrinsically aware that the only person they knew with a car was Thomas Jefferson. 

(The day he asked Thomas Jefferson for a ride to Ikea was the day hell froze over.)

He slung his favorite pair of jeans over his shoulder, grabbed his Converse, and headed down the hall to Herc’s room. Lafayette and John were already in the living room, sprawled on the sofa, waiting for Alex and Herc to finish getting ready. 

“Okay,” Herc said, digging through his closet as Alex tugged on his jeans and tied up his sneakers, “I found some stuff that I was actually altering for John, but I think it’ll fit you just as well as it would him.”

Alex pulled on the tanktop (embroidered with what looked like hundred dollar bills, fluttering across the black fabric from some invisible hand), and shrugged the deep green blazer on overtop. He held out his arms.

“Yeah?”

Herc nodded. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

They congregated by the door, Alex in his Hercules Mulligan original, Herc in black jeans and a patchwork shirt that honestly only looked good because he was wearing it, Lafayette in dark red pants and a French flag patterned shirt, and John in cuffed skinny jeans and a Taylor Swift concert t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. 

“Did you actually go to the _”Red”_ tour or did you just find that in a thrift store somewhere?” Alex asked as he joined the group. John shrugged one shoulder.

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out.”

Alex quirked an eyebrow. John shrugged again.

“Hey, gotta keep _some_ of the mystery alive, right?”

“You’re a fuckin’ weirdo, Laurens,” Herc commented as they left the apartment as a group, Lafayette locking the door behind them and herding them into the elevator. They followed Lafayette down the street, as he followed, presumably, Jefferson’s texted directions. Alex kept a firm hold on John’s hand, relishing the warmth and closeness they shared, even doing something small and insignificant like walking down the street.

They passed Libertea, and Herc jumped up to smack the sign as they all walked under it.

Lafayette led them down a few side streets, muttering in French and looking at his phone all the while, Herc peering over his shoulder. Alex followed with John, fingers still intertwined, shoulders still bumping every so often. 

“If you had one day left on earth,” John said suddenly, his voice low enough that Alex knew he was talking to him and not the whole group, “what would you do?”

“Where’s this coming from?” Alex asked, also keeping his voice quiet.

“I don’t know,” John replied, bumping him again, on purpose this time. “Just answer it.”

Alex gave himself a few seconds to think; things like _fly to Nevis_ and _punch out everyone I hate_ and _spend the whole day kissing you_ running through his mind like the scoreboard on a football game, but instead leaned closer to John.

“Can I say that I’d spend every last second with you?” he said. “Or is that too sappy?”

“One hundred percent too sappy.” John tilted his head back and grazed Alex’s ear with his lips. “But it was the right answer anyway, for sure.”

“There it is,” Lafayette said, pointing down the street. It was unmistakable what he was pointing to; a marble building flanked by another club on one side and a restaurant on the corner, overflowing with outdoor seating even at ten o’clock.

The club itself was dark, but there was no question that a party was raging. A line of people stretched around the block, barricaded in by red velvet rope, and a black-suited bouncer stood at the entrance, illuminated by a cursive red neon sign.

“ _Connexion d’Amour_?” Herc asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“That’s _Connection Of Love_ for our non-French speaking friends,” John said, ignoring Herc’s eye-roll. “And how the fuck are we getting in? I’m not waiting in that line for a terrible cocktail and a sweaty dance floor, Laf, you know how much I hate lines.”

“Aw,” Herc said, leaning his head back exaggeratedly, “not used to waiting in lines, mayor’s kid?” 

John smacked his shoulder as Lafayette headed across the street to talk to the bouncer.

“I didn’t know you hated lines this much,” Alex said. 

“Going to the grocery store with him’s a fuckin’ nightmare,” Herc said.

“Y’all can fuck off,” John said.

Lafayette beckoned to them from the club’s entrance, and, after waiting for a bus, a limo, and two motorcycles to pass, the three of them crossed the street to join him. The bouncer ushered them inside, they showed identification, paid the twenty dollar cover charge (Alex made a mental note to somehow overcharge Jefferson if he ever came into Libertea for a drink), and entered the club.

Alex had only been to a few clubs before Connexion d’Amour, and none of them even compared. Music thumped from every corner of the four-story room; the DJ was elevated in the center of the floor, shirtless and flanked by speakers. People were packed onto the dance floor surrounding the DJ, and the room was dark except for strobe lights, glow paint, and the white flash of teeth.

The ceiling was open for three stories, but the sides of the building were balconies where Alex could see more private alcoves, some had the curtains drawn but some were open; people were drinking and laughing and watching the dance floor below. He couldn’t hear anything except for pounding bass. He didn’t know what song was playing, but every time he glanced over, John was mouthing the lyrics.

Lafayette said something, but Alex couldn’t hear.

“WHAT?” he asked.

He flashed his phone underneath Alex’s nose.

**Thomas J.**

TJ: up 2 flights of stairs, go to ur left

TJ: its the big booth in the back, 3rd floor

“FINE,” Alex yelled, gesturing at the stairs when Lafayette cocked his head to the side and squinted. The four of them climbed the stairs, dodging waiters with trays and girls with winged eyeliner, the pounding bass following them as they turned and started up the second set of stairs.

They made their way through, admittedly, a less dense crowd on the third floor balcony. Alex could actually hear himself think, which was a miracle, and as they headed towards the furthermost booth, the song changed again, some bass-heavy top 40 song that Alex had _definitely_ heard John play in the shower before. 

“I don’t know any of these songs,” he muttered to John as they found the right alcove.

“It’s ‘cause you’re an old man, Hamilton,” John whispered back, his hot breath tickling Alex’s ear. “This song sucks, anyway, so it’s okay.”

The semi-circle booth was already mostly full by the time they got there; Madison was sandwiched between Angelica and Eliza, and Peggy was on the other side by herself, margarita glass in hand and hair done up in two messy buns on either side of her head. Jefferson was nowhere to be found, but Alex didn’t let himself get his hopes up.

They slid into the booth, maneuvering themselves so that Herc and Peggy were squished together on the very end, Lafayette was between Peggy and Madison, and Alex found himself in the middle of John and Eliza, which he was more than happy with. 

“I didn’t know you guys were coming,” Herc said, voice carrying easily in the enclosed booth. Alex could still hear the pounding music, but it was a lot less intense. Peggy slid her margarita down the table and Herc took a sip.

“Yeah,” Angelica said, putting her purse on the table to try and create more room. Her hair was sleek in a high ponytail, and her eye makeup was darker than Alex had ever seen it done before. “Thomas texted me an hour or so ago, and we all thought it would be… Interesting.”

“I haven’t been out in forever,” Eliza admitted from Alex’s left. She had on a tight black skirt and a slouchy gray t-shirt; her hair was tied into a messy bun and she had a chunky maroon necklace around her neck. “I’m not the biggest fan of clubs, but hey. It doesn’t hurt to try, right?”

“I think we have the biggest fan of clubs here in our booth,” Peggy said, reaching around Lafayette to nudge Madison in the shoulder. He was sitting with his arms crossed, an expression of _I’m trying very hard to have a good time_ on his face. “You’re absolutely thrilled to be here, aren’t you bud?”

He cracked a smile at that, matching Peggy’s brilliant grin with one of his own. 

“Clubs suck.”

“I hear that,” Angelica said, texting.

“They’re not all bad,” Lafayette said. “Adri and I used to go to this place in France all the time. They'd have firebreathers and knife throwers and all of this crazy stuff.”

“That just sounds massively dangerous,” Madison commented. Lafayette grinned. 

“It was, but that's what makes it fun.”

Madison’s face looked like he'd just eaten an entire lemon, and Alex silently agreed. If he'd been asked a month ago to go to Lafayette’s club he would have said yes, no question, but now, with John on his right and the prospect of an entire night cuddling on their sofa in the apartment lost, he was almost ashamed to find that he'd choose the night in without any argument. 

“Okay, okay, who loves me?” Jefferson said, entering their alcove and sliding a tray filled with drinks onto the table. He was ostentatious in a purple suit jacket and pants, his white button-up shirt strategically missing a few buttons. “First round’s on me, mainly because I ordered them already and have no idea what y’all drink. Let’s see…”

He pushed the first drink towards Angelica. “Classic old fashioned for Angel. I _did_ remember that.” 

She blew him a kiss and accepted the drink, moving her purse from the table to underneath the booth’s curved seat. Jefferson handed Madison a Long Island iced tea and Lafayette a deep burgundy sangria before turning to Peggy.

“What the hell, Schuyler,” he said, gesturing at her mostly empty margarita. “I thought I said no one gets their drink on until I came back?”

She picked up her glass and downed the rest of it in one go. “Sir, my drink waits for no man.”

Jefferson rolled his eyes and slid her a drink, ombré in varying shades of clear to orange. “I wasn’t going to go with a margarita, so I got you a paloma, when I should have gotten you _nothing_.” Peggy smirked up at him, swirling the drink with her pinkie finger.

He passed Herc a mint mojito, which Peggy immediately grabbed to try, giving Herc her drink, which he took a sip from as well.

“French 75 for Eliza…” Jefferson handed her a tall cocktail glass, garnished with lemon, that she accepted gratefully. “Pina colada for Laurens…”

“ _Fuck_ yes,” John said, taking the drink. “I was hoping that one was mine.”

“And a hurricane for Alexander,” Jefferson said, passing Alex the second to last drink on the tray. It was muddled red and orange, and he sipped it with narrowed eyes as Jefferson made his way into the booth, stepping over Herc and Peggy and Lafayette and Madison until he was settled between Madison and Angelica. Their booth was almost too cramped, but it worked.

And Alex really didn’t want to admit it, but his drink was _delicious_.

“Try mine,” John said, pushing his drink down the table and taking Alex’s right out of his hands. John’s was one wave of coconut after another, and Alex didn’t like it nearly as much as his drink. They switched again, Alex declined Eliza’s offer to try her drink, and the nine of them sat and sipped in silence, the thumping bass from downstairs gently shaking their booth.

“You know who we shoulda invited,” John said, a little louder than necessary, half of his drink already gone and he'd taken more than a few sips of both Alex's and Lafayette's. “Burr and Theo. I want to club with Theo, she’d fuckin’ rage, I can tell.”

“You just want to see Burr drunk,” Herc accused from across the table. John slapped a hand to his heart.

“ _Hercules Mulligan_ , I would _never_ invite anyone out just to see how they’d act drunk, no matter how incredibly hilarious it would be, come _on_ , guys. Burr. Drunk off his ass.”

“He’s already seen all of us totally smashed, so it’s only fair,” Alex said, taking another sip of his drink. John pointed his thumb at him.

“Alex Hamilton agrees with me, bitches, what now?”

“Who’s this?” Jefferson asked.

“Aaron Burr,” Lafayette answered. “He’s one of our regulars at Libertea. He’s the one who got engaged that same night we had that party.”

“The girl with dreads, right?”

“Theodosia Bartow, yeah.”

“Give me his number,” Jefferson said. “If y’all want them to come, I’m sure there’s more room in this booth somewhere.”

“Nah,” John said, finishing his drink. “I think Burr’s the type of guy who’s gonna need more than ten minutes notice before coming somewhere like this. Next time, though, I’ll get him to hang out.”

“And how’re you going to do that?” Alex asked, leaning closer to John, who quickly and chastely pressed his lips to his cheek.

“I have my ways.”

“Don’t kiss Burr,” Alex said, laughing and knocking the side of his head against John’s. “I swear to God, Laurens, if I catch you kissing Burr--”

“Okay, bitches, who’s ready to dance?” Peggy said, shimmying against Herc until he got out of the booth, holding out his hand to help her up. “I’ve had a margarita and whatever the shit Tom got me, and I’m ready to get it _on_.”

She looked up at Herc. 

“Dance with me?”

He lifted up her hand. “Lead the way, Ms. Schuyler.”

They headed for the stairs, followed by Lafayette, still holding his drink, and Madison and Angelica, heads bent in quiet conversation. Eliza half-vaulted over Alex, John holding out his hand to help her, and the two of them left too, after Alex assured John he’d be right there, leaving him and Jefferson alone in the booth.

Jefferson took a drink of Madison’s iced tea. Alex glared at him.

“What’s your game?” he asked. Jefferson quirked an eyebrow.

“What’s that mean?”

“You know what it means. Why now? Why come back to America, get a job from Washington, throw yourself back into Angelica’s life--”

“Is that what this is about?” The other eyebrow raised to meet the first. “Believe me, Hamilton, Angelica Schuyler can take care of herself. She doesn’t need you doing her dirty work for her, and, frankly, I think she’d kick your ass if she heard you right now.”

“I’m not trying to protect her,” Alex shot back, “I’m trying to figure out why you think you can insert yourself into my life, my jobs, my building, my _friendships_ without any fucking consequence--”

“Come on, Alex,” Jefferson said, leaning back, arms spread out casually on the back of the booth. “Possessiveness isn’t cute on anyone, let alone you.”

“I don’t need to deal with this,” Alex said, sliding out of the booth and rounding back on Jefferson one last time. “I don’t trust you, okay? You can do whatever the hell you want, but that doesn’t mean I trust you, or I like you, or that I have to be around you.”

Jefferson leaned forward, about to say something, but Alex turned around before he could, and made his way through the crowd on the third floor until he reached the stairs. He took them two at a time, only pausing to grab a shot right out of some guy’s hands, throwing it back in one gulp.

The guy spun around. “Hey, that’s my alcohol!” 

Alex was already on the second staircase, and he didn’t look back.

The dance floor was even more crowded than when they’d first arrived, and Alex pushed through flailing limbs and gyrating bodies and thumping bass until he found John.

He was still with Eliza; her hair had come undone and little specks of makeup flecked under her eyelids, and, inexplicably, both of them were sprinkled with glitter. John’s hair was wild and he took Alex’s hand in his own sweaty grip, and the three of them jumped to the beat for a while.

“You look pissed,” John yelled through a pause in the music.

“I am pissed,” Alex yelled back. 

Eliza rolled her eyes, grabbing some glitter out of a stranger’s hand and letting it flutter down over Alex’s head. “Let it go!”

Angelica materialized out of the crowd, looping her arm through Eliza’s and tugging her away. The song changed, the upbeat dance music melting into something more mellow, and John wrapped his arms around Alex’s neck, kissing him once on his nose, another time on his forehead, and one last time on his lips, deep and lovely and coconut flavored.

Alex had no idea how to dance in a situation like that, but John had more than enough know-how for both of them, taking the lead and allowing Alex to follow it. There was a lot of touching; John’s hands raking through his hair, John’s chest pressed against his chest, John’s nose bumping his nose as they shared the same space, same touch, same air.

“You’re being ridiculous, you know,” John said into his ear as the music pushed them together and apart, together and apart. “I know that guy’s the worst, but, come on. He’s making you irrational, and that’s coming from the most irrational idiot in the entire world.”

“I know he does, John,” Alex replied. “I know, _I know_.”

“So why’d you let him get to you all the time?”

“He’s just… Here, now. All the time. At Libertea, in our building. It took me so long to find you guys, I just… I don’t want to lose you to some purple-wearing Lamborghini-owning jerk.”

John laughed, throwing his head back to the sparkling ceiling, curls flying. 

“If you think you’re going to lose me because some jackass bought me a drink, you’re even dumber than I thought.” He kissed him again, and again. “You’re stuck with me, Hamilton, and Libertea, and Laf, and Herc… They’re all stuck, too. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Should I apologize?” Alex asked. “To Jefferson, I mean.”

“Do you want to?”

“Fuck, no.”

“You probably should, then.”

“ _Shit_.” Alex looked around like he’d be able to locate Jefferson in the dark sea of writhing bodies, alcohol, and glitter. “What was he drinking? I’ll do a whole peace offering type thing, get it over with for good.”

“Last time I saw him he had a Lynchburg lemonade,” John said. “Here, give me your wallet. I’ll go get it while you find him.”

Alex handed his wallet to John, craning his neck over the crowd, looking for a glimpse of Jefferson’s hair or Madison’s broad shoulders or even Angelica’s high ponytail would have been helpful. All he saw were strangers dancing, Eliza off to the side, deep in conversation with Lafayette, and Herc and Peggy rotating close to the DJ’s platform. John ducked back through the crowd, drink in hand.

“He’s on the other side of the DJ thing,” he said, breathless, handing over Alex’s wallet and the drink. “With Madison. Really easy to spot, they’re both covered in glitter.”

“Thanks,” Alex said, leaning over to kiss John one last time before they parted ways. Alex skirted couples and groups until he saw Jefferson across the crowd, Madison nowhere to be found, and John headed over to Eliza and Lafayette.

“Hey,” he said loudly as, thankfully, the DJ changed pace to a quieter song. Jefferson turned around and Alex held up the drink as he maneuvered through the crowd. “So, I just wanted to say--”

“That for me?” Jefferson asked, pointing at the Lynchburg lemonade. “Aw, Ham, you shouldn’t have.”

Alex took a deep breath. “Listen, I just wanted to let you know that I’ve been acting like a jackass. That’s not who I am.” He held out the drink. “White flag?”

“I mean, it makes sense,” Jefferson said, tilting his chin up. “You’ve never had a family before, so you’re scared they’re going to leave you for someone better, right?”

Alex drew his arm back, bringing the drink closer to him again. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying you’re insecure.” Jefferson lifted and dropped one shoulder. “It’s not my fault I intimidate you.”

“You think you _intimidate_ me--”

“I think you’re ridiculous,” Jefferson said, his tone shifting, becoming sharper, more dangerous. “I think you think you’re worth more than you are, coming from wherever the hell you came from, acting like you’re hot shit, and, frankly, I’m not sure why Washington even hired you in the first place.”

Alex was clenching the glass so hard he was surprised that it didn’t shatter, and when Jefferson looked at him with blinding pity in his hard brown eyes, it was the last straw.

“I gotta say, I’m disappointed. I thought New York could do better.”

Alex reared back, launching the entire contents of the tall glass right in Jefferson’s face, throwing it to the ground and watching as it shattered, shards of glass skittering across the dance floor, catching rays of light from the strobes on the ceiling and throwing them back in colorful mosaic beams.

Jefferson lunged forward and Alex parried, pushing his shoulder with his left hand and punching with his right, landing a solid blow on Jefferson’s jaw that sent him stumbling back. Alex clutched his hand, looking up for a brief second, breathing out. _That_ was going to bruise in the morning.

He looked back just in time to see the fist-shaped blur heading right for his eye.

Alex landed on his ass, one hand skidding across the glass-covered floor and the other splayed over his eye, already swollen and throbbing along with the music and his heartbeat. He sat there for a harsh second, his brain registering pain shooting from the knuckles on his right hand, his left palm, his eye, and his back, before he was hauled to his feet. 

Two harsh klaxon alarms sounded as the lights came on. Only a few feet away, Jefferson was glaring fire and dripping alcohol as security surrounded them, making a buffer wall as employees came out of the woodwork with brooms and flashlights. The guard that had picked him up took him by the arm again, steering him towards the door.

“Hey, Alex, what the hell!” John pushed through the crowd. “What happened?”

“You with him?” the security guard asked. John’s eyes roved over Alex, taking in his swollen eye, the blood sprinkling the floor under his glass-pricked hand, the Lynchburg lemonade all over his shoes. 

John grinned.

“Yeah, I’m with him.”

“All right, then, you’re out too.” The guard took John’s arm and pushed the two of them out of the club and onto the street. “Get the hell out of here.”

“He says as he literally _pushes us out_ ,” John called over his shoulder to the retreating security guard, taking Alex’s hand and holding it up under a streetlamp, making sure there weren’t any lingering bits of glass. “So much for peace, huh, Ham?”

“He doesn’t deserve peace,” Alex said, clenching and unclenching the fingers he’d used to punch Jefferson across the jaw. “He deserves my foot up his ass. He deserves another punch to the face, because I don’t think I got him good enough the first time.”

“Fuck, Alex, you punched Jefferson?”

“He didn’t exactly kiss me back,” Alex said, gesturing to his eye. It was hard to see out of, especially on the dark street. John took his face in his hands, brushing light fingers over his eye, stopping when Alex winced.

“Okay, street fighter, let’s get you the hell home.” He slung one of Alex’s arms around his neck and that’s how they walked home, John supporting the injured Alex, Alex supporting John, who was still pretty drunk. 

“We should tell the others,” he said as they took the elevator to their floor. John nodded, pulling out his phone. He put it on speakerphone, dialed, and the phone rang once, twice…

“ _John Henry Laurens_ ,” Lafayette said on the other end. It was still loud at the club, but there was no music, just people milling around and talking in the background. He could hear Peggy, saying something indiscernible, and he could almost but not quite make out Herc’s reply. “What the hell happened? Where are you two?”

“Alex punched Jefferson,” John said. Lafayette breathed out a heavy breath.

“ _Merde_.”

“He punched me back,” Alex protested weakly. John shushed him.

“We got kicked out and Alex is all beat up and covered in alcohol, so we’re heading home. What’s going on there?”

“I have no idea where Thomas is,” Lafayette said. “Madison’s gone, too, and Angelica went with them. Eliza’s about to get a cab, and the rest of us are coming home. Herc wants to know if Alex need medical assistance, you jackass. His words, not mine.”

“Alex is going to be fine,” John said, looking over at him. Alex stuck out his tongue. “Maybe a bandaid on his hand and some frozen peas on his eye, or some shit.”

“Herc says that’s doable.”

“Seeya, Laf.”

“Don’t hit anyone else,” came the muttered reply before John hung up. 

They entered the apartment, not bothering to lock the door behind them, and John steered Alex into the bathroom and watched as he cleaned off his bloody hand, applied a thin line of Neosporin, and one of Herc’s larger bandaids from the container under the sink. He poked at his eye a little in the mirror, it was ugly and dark blue, but nothing he couldn’t deal with. 

“You look like _My First Fistfight Barbie_ right now,” John said, laughing as Alex stripped off his shirt, shaking the glitter onto the bathroom floor. “It’s kind of hot, though, I’m not going to lie.”

“He said I was worthless,” Alex said, wadding up the shirt and slinging it into the corner along with his blazer and alcohol-soaked sneakers. “That Washington should have never hired me. That’s what Jefferson said before I punched him.”

“Shit.” John’s eyes had gone wide. “Alex, you know that doesn’t mean--”

“I know it doesn’t mean anything, John, but he still said it and it still hurts.” He made a fist with the hand that had made immediate, smashing contact with the side of Jefferson’s face, and looked down at it. His knuckles had already started to bruise. “I feel like I’m fighting all the time, fighting against some version of myself that’s a failure, and sometimes people see the me I want them to see, and sometimes people see the me that fails at everything he tries.”

He breathed out, closing his eyes for a brief, too short, second. 

“I don’t know which one’s real.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” John took Alex’s face in his hands again, and all Alex could see was warm brown eyes, splashes of freckles, and curly hair. “Alex, you know which one’s real, the one you show to me every day of your fucking life. _That’s_ you, that’s who we all know, that’s who’s our roommate and our coworker and my boyfriend.”

John laughed.

“Look at that. You made me say it. _Boyfriend_.”

Alex had to laugh at that, too. “It’s not a bad word, John.”

“Especially not when it’s applied to you.” John dipped his head down for a heartbeat, letting their lips brush. “I’m sorry for what he said, Alex. I’m not sorry you punched him. That was fucking awesome.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Alex said. The night had taken its toll, and, standing beside John, he felt the calmest he'd been all night. “Jefferson can say what he wants to say. I know where I belong.”

“Damn fucking right you know where you belong,” John said, and then yawned a long, extended yawn, his mouth open wide enough that Alex could see the backs of his teeth. “Shit. I think I’m still a little out of it.”

“Okay, fine, let’s go. My turn.” Alex looped John’s arm around his neck and supported him out of the bathroom, down the hall, and into his bedroom. John’s room was a mess, but the kind of controlled chaos that Alex was sure he knew where everything was, even if it was under a pile of socks and crumpled up sketchbook papers. 

John managed to pull off his sneakers and jeans before collapsing on his bed, motioning for Alex to join him. Alex glanced around, taking in the moonlight streaming through the slight openings in John’s curtains, the bulletin board full of drawings moving gently with the whir of the oscillating fan in the corner, and John, sprawled on his two stacked queen mattresses, no sheets on his bed and nothing between his bed and Alex.

“Come on,” John muttered sleepily, motioning to the empty spot beside him on the bed. Alex closed the door behind him and pushed John over a little bit, making more room for himself, and that’s how he fell asleep, with John’s pillow under his head and John’s arm flung across his chest and the taste of John’s lips still on his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Alex juggles school, work, friends, enemies, and John. Man, the man is non-stop.
> 
> Note #1: The club playlist is "Lucky Strike" by Maroon 5, "Fancy" by Iggy Azaela and Charli XCX, "Shame" by Adam Lambert, "Talking Body" by Tove Lo, and "Your Bed" by All Time Low.
> 
> Note #2: Tomorrow (July 4th!) at 11 a.m. (EST) I'll be posting a special holiday Libertea oneshot, so be on the lookout for that, and happy Independence Day!! ♥
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	20. Bright Young Man (Yo, Who The Eff Is This?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex has his friendships, his relationship, his job, and with finals approaching, it pays to be a little non-stop.

Alex woke up to his phone ringing, a quiet decrescendo tone that had him fumbling to turn it off before it woke John up, too. He’d set his Libertea work alarm for every day of the week, but it was Sunday, and they had nowhere to go and nowhere to be.

He settled back down, gently tugging most of his pillow out from under John’s head. John had three pillows and two blankets on his bed but he had somehow stolen the one Alex had claimed, gathering them all around him in the middle of the night. He was still sleeping, cocooned in blankets, pressed against Alex’s side like he’d been glued there.

The sun was starting to rise, Alex could see it through John’s slitted blinds.

He shifted on the bed, moving the blankets wrapped around John so he could get even closer. Groaning softly, John stretched and rolled over, throwing one arm over Alex’s chest and pressing his nose against Alex’s cheek.

“Good morning,” he muttered.

Alex maneuvered until he was nose-to-nose with John, taking in the swathes of freckles painted across his face, the curled up eyelashes resting against his bottom lids, the light brushstrokes of stubble trailing down his chin. His undone hair covered his ears and fell down over his forehead, framing his closed eyes and freckled nose and yawning mouth in a curtain of soft whorls. 

“What fuckin’ time is it?” he asked quietly.

“Six something,” Alex replied, holding back a grin as John flipped over, groaning. Alex scooted over to him and pressed his lips to the back of John’s exposed neck, wrapping one arm around his chest and pulling him close. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“What do you mean?” John asked, his voice still heavy with sleep. “You punching a guy? Getting us kicked out of a club? You know all that shit makes me like you more, right?”

“Shut up, John.”

“I’m serious,” John said, turning over again, kicking the blankets to the floor and looking Alex right in the eyes. He traced Alex’s still-painful black eye with one curled finger. “I love chaos. Don’t you _know_ me?”

He dipped his head down, just enough that his lips brushed Alex’s black eye. 

“It’s not my fault,” Alex protested weakly as John’s lips trailed across his cheekbone and down his chin. “He was asking for it. He’s got a _backpfeifengesicht_.”

“What the fuck?”

“My German teacher used to say it all the time. It’s one of those untranslatable words; means someone’s got a face that needs to be punched.”

“Well, you back-fee-gessi-whatever’d him pretty good last night, Ham.”

“ _Backpfeifengesicht_.”

“Whatever.” John’s teeth grazed Alex’s earlobe. “I didn’t know you speak German.”

“I don’t really,” he said as John moved down his neck, biting gently. “I took a semester in high school. I’m fluent in French and Spanish, never got the hang of German.”

“Brag.” John lifted his head, mischievous brown eyes sparkling in the low morning light. “Teach me some Spanish, then.”

“You don’t know any Spanish?”

John flopped across Alex’s chest, squirming around until he was on the other side of the bed, head tilted so he was still in Alex’s line of vision. “I know some. Test me.”

“Okay.” Alex laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling, at John’s one naked lightbulb screwed into the fixture. “ _Bombilla_.”

“Lightbulb,” John replied, moving so he was on his back as well, curly hair tickling the side of Alex’s face. 

“ _Techo_.”

“Ceiling.”

Alex turned to look at John. “ _Calor._ ”

“Heat,” John said, passing one hand through Alex’s untied hair. He moved closer; their noses brushed.

“ _Anoche_ ,” Alex breathed.

“Last night.” 

“That’s right.”

John sat up and leaned over Alex, both arms planted on either side of his head. He bent down until their foreheads touched and Alex could see every intricate detail, the dark brown tendrils snaking through his amber eyes, the few freckles scattered across his eyelids, a tiny white scar at the start of his left eyebrow. John’s teeth raked across his own bottom lip, so quick that Alex almost didn’t catch it. He breathed out.

“And how do you say _kiss me_?”

“ _Bésame_ ,” Alex whispered, and John did just that, leaning down until their lips met; soft, brushing sensations at first, until the pressure increased and Alex was on his back with his hands in John’s hair and John was leaning on his elbows, straddling Alex, brushing down his cheekbones with his thumbs as they kissed again and again. 

Alex was so single-minded (John’s lips on his, John’s hair in his hands, John’s light huffs of laughter every time they bumped noses or bit each other’s lip or knocked foreheads), that he didn’t hear the first knock on the door. John did, though, and broke away.

Whoever it was knocked again. Loudly.

“ _What?_ ” John asked, just as loud as the knock, and just as exasperated. The someone blew a raspberry from outside the door. 

“I’m making breakfast,” he said. It was Herc. “I know you two are staring into each other's’ eyes or some bullshit, but you’ve had my pancakes. They’re better than sex. Get the hell out here.”

“We weren’t--” John started, but Herc was already walking away, back down the hall. John fell back on Alex’s left, blowing out an aggravated breath towards the ceiling. “Herc Mulligan, ladies and gentlemen, professional fucking mood ruiner.” 

“Come on,” Alex said, leaning up on one elbow. “I’m starving. Let’s go get some pancakes before Laf and Herc eat them all.”

John pouted. “ _Bésame_.”

Alex grinned, ducking down and pressing his lips to John’s in a quick and chaste kiss, before flipping off the bed and holding out his hand. Still pouting, John took it and stood as well, grabbing a zip-up hoodie and raking his curls back into a messy ponytail before they headed into the kitchen.

The first thing Alex saw was Lafayette, laying on his back in the middle of the living room floor, holding his iPad over his head with both arms. He exchanged rapid-fire French with whoever he was video chatting with, most likely Adrienne.

Herc was by the stove, apron on over his bare chest, sweatpants slung low on his waist, and Peggy Schuyler was sitting on their island.

“Morning,” she sang, hair up in a bun, black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. “Heard you guys were sucking face.”

“Herc?” John asked, looking from Herc to Peggy and from Peggy back to Herc. “What the hell happened last night?”

“Nothing,” Herc said, just as Peggy winked.

“Everything.”

“Full disclosure,” John demanded, hopping up to sit next to Peggy. Alex leaned beside him. “ _Now_.”

“Nah, you guys go first,” Peggy said, reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind John’s ear. “I see Alex Hamilton has quite the shiner. Is that the _exact shape and size_ of Thomas Jefferson’s fist, I wonder?” She cocked her head to the side, her eyes, made bigger by her glasses, wide and innocent.

“Yeah,” Alex replied, rolling his eyes, “I threw a drink at him and then punched him. He punched me back, we got kicked out…”

“It was super hot,” John said. Alex swatted at his leg.

“And we came home. The end.”

“Why’d you guys fight?” Peggy asked, and then cocked her head again. “If you can really call that _fighting_. There was blood, so I guess it counts.”

“He was acting like an asshole,” John said quickly before Alex could say anything. “You know, his normal self. The punch was justified, although I can’t say I condone wasting alcohol in any situation ever.”

“Jefferson’s not that bad.” Peggy leapt down from the counter and shuffled around Herc in her socked feet to grab a mug from the cupboard. She passed two to John, who gave one to Alex, and then made a round with the steaming coffee pot, full of freshly brewed dark roast. “He was over at our apartment yesterday night and it was pretty fun.”

“What the hell?” Alex said, halfway through dumping sugar into his coffee. “I thought we, as a collective nation, decided to boycott Thomas _fucking_ Jefferson for, I don’t know, a million and a half different reasons?”

Peggy shrugged and hopped back onto the counter, somehow not spilling a single drop of coffee. “He brought Thai food and Kahlua and Madison. We watched _Zootopia_. It was fun.”

“Okay, that’s not fair,” John said. “Drunk watching Disney movies is my fucking sweet spot. If Jefferson’s not inviting the whole squad--”

“Jefferson’s not part of our _squad_ ,” Alex said. Peggy took a sip of coffee, eyebrow arched.

“Tell that to Angelica.”

“You don’t want to piss off Angelica,” Herc said over his shoulder, his spatula a blur of motion as he filled up one plate with pancakes. Peggy nodded sagely.

“I thought she hated Jefferson,” Alex retorted, handing his coffee to John so that he could cross his arms. John downed his coffee in one gulp. “I bet she was pissed off at _him_ for coming over to your apartment like that.”

Peggy’s other eyebrow arched to meet its twin. “Who do you think invited him?” 

“Shut the hell up,” John said. “Give me the _dirt_ , Schuyler!”

At that, Peggy seemed to shrink back, lifting and dropping one shoulder like she’d already given out enough confidential Schuyler sister information for one morning. “She just doesn’t mind him, okay? They met and hung out a little when she was in France. They both have this…” She waved her hand around in the air. “ _Air_ , you know? Like they know something you don’t.”

She shrugged again. “I like them together.”

“What about Madison?” Herc asked, sliding one platter full of steaming hot pancakes onto the island. “Him and Jefferson seem like kind of a thing.”

“I don’t know, Mulligan, damn!” Peggy tore off a piece of pancake, splitting it with John. “I spend the night in your bed and you think I’m gonna go around spilling all my secrets.”

“So you guys _did_ \--”

“We did not,” Herc said, whacking John’s leg with his spatula. “We walked around the city for a while after you two ruined the night at the club, and I let her crash in my bed. I slept on the couch.”

“Like a perfect gentleman,” Peggy said, blowing a kiss towards Herc, who turned back to the stove. John rolled his eyes.

“At least tell me y’all kissed,” he said. “Me and Alex are pulling all the cute couple weight around here, it’s time for someone else to step up.”

Herc flipped a pancake. “Nope.”

Peggy winked. “A little.”

John threw his hands up into the air. “Which one _fucking_ is it?”

Peggy laughed as Lafayette skidded into the kitchen, hair undone and iPad in hand. He held it out in front of himself and Herc, still at the stove. “Say hi, _ami_.”

“Hey, Adri,” Herc said, saluting with the spatula. “Congrats, by the way, and good luck. Dealing with Laf’s bullshit hasn’t been easy, but it’s your problem now!”

Adrienne laughed; Alex could see the dark blur of her hair on the screen from across the room. “I think I have it easy. I’m all the way over here; you still have to see his face every day.”

Lafayette made a pained noise. “Adri!”

“Give me that, give me that.” Peggy snatched the iPad out of Lafayette’s hands, holding it out in front of her, John, and Alex. On the screen, Adrienne was cross legged on a gray sofa in a blue hoodie and shorts, phone or laptop propped in front of her. “Hey, Adri, I’m Peggy Schuyler. I’ve heard a _lot_ about you.”

“Peggy,” Adrienne said, tying her hair up into a ponytail. “You’re the alcohol girl? With the three sisters?”

“Two sisters,” Peggy corrected, “Angelica and Eliza. And yep, my real name’s Margarita, but everyone calls me Peggy.”

“And you’re dating Hercules?”

“Not dating,” Herc said from the stove. Peggy winked, once at the screen, and once towards Herc. 

“Not yet.”

Adrienne grinned. “That’s his shirt, right?”

She was referring to the oversized t-shirt Peggy had knotted around her waist; a black concert shirt from J-Lo’s summer 2012 tour. Peggy nodded. 

“Okay okay,” John said, grabbing the iPad, “what is this I hear about congratulations being needed? What did y’all do, and why am I only hearing about it now? Don’t tell me I need to start pinching pennies for a bachelor party or some shit--”

“Nothing like that,” Adrienne said, as Lafayette groaned in the background, “We put that we’re dating up on Facebook last night. Hercules said that makes it official.”

“Really?” John whipped out his phone. “Y’all went Facebook official on me and I didn’t even know about it?” He nudged Alex. “We need to do that, too, you know.”

“I don’t really go on Facebook,” Alex said, not even protesting as John handed the iPad back to Peggy, grabbed Alex’s phone right out of his pocket, put in his password, and opened up the Facebook app. 

“Okay, so first of all, you’re not even friends with Adri,” John accused, tapping the screen. “Or Washington, or Syb Ludington. What the hell’s wrong with you, Hamilton?”

Alex shrugged. “I don’t get on all that often.”

“Okay, well I’m friending all of them for you.” More screen tapping. “Don’t hate me, but I just friended Jefferson. He asked you, though, so that’s good. Okay, so I’m liking Adri and Laf’s relationship status… Typing one for us… In a relationship with… Not John Adams, John _Laurens_... There.”

He held up Alex’s phone. 

_**Alex Hamilton** is in a relationship with **John Laurens**!_

“That’s cute,” Herc said. Alex’s phone buzzed, once, twice, three times.

_**Hercules Mulligan** liked this!_  
_**Gilbert du Motier** liked this!_  
_**Margarita Ann Schuyler** liked this!_

John changed his status, too, tagging Alex in it and commenting a line of hearts on Alex’s status, as well. The six of them, including Adrienne’s on-screen presence, moved into the living room with stacks of pancakes and cups of coffee and white grape juice. Alex made himself comfortable on the floor between John and Herc, stretching his legs underneath the coffee table and ripping off bits of pancake by hand, dipping them into the puddle of syrup on John’s plate while Lafayette, Adrienne, and Peggy argued about Disney princesses. 

They stayed like that for at least an hour; Herc put on _Tangled_ and made himself comfortable on the couch with Peggy, John worked his way through two more plates of pancakes, and Lafayette propped his iPad on one of the chairs so that Adrienne could watch along with them. Alex’s phone buzzed sporadically with Facebook notifications-- 

_**Martha Dandridge-Washington** liked this!_  
_**Elizabeth Schuyler** liked this!_  
_**Aaron Burr Jr.** liked this!_

\--and one text.

**J. Madz**

JM: Hamilton.

AH: What?

JM: You’re in Warren’s abnormal psych class, right?

AH: Yeah, the 7pm class. Why?

JM: I’m in the 8:30am. I just heard his final’s going to be brutal.

AH: Yeah, but that’s in weeks.

JM: Finals start in eight days, Alex.

JM: Have you been studying?

JM: Hamilton?

  


•••

  
“Alex!”

“Yeah, Laf, I know I’m late,” Alex said, phone held between his ear and shoulder as he highlighted the open textbook in front of him. “I’m still at home. I’ve been up since--”

“Alex, _mon Dieu_ , this is the third day in a row,” Lafayette said, clearly exasperated. Alex could hear the noise of Libertea behind him, the espresso machine shuddering, the muted chatter of a long line of customers, the cash register opening and closing. “I know your finals are close, but this is your _job_. I can’t keep covering for you.”

“Fine, okay.” Alex grabbed his backpack and threw a few textbooks, notebooks, highlighters, and pens inside. He’d go to work, but he’d be damned if he didn’t get some studying in. “I’m sorry, Laf. I’ll be there in five.”

“Make it three,” Lafayette muttered, and hung up. 

Alex slung his backpack over his shoulder and locked the apartment behind him, jogging down the steps, through the double doors, and into the jarringly chilly early December air. He had no idea where the time had gone; in between working at Libertea and figuring out his relationship with John, somehow school had been put on the back burner. That was going to change.

He was determined to do well on every single one of his tests. He got out of Nevis with his brain, and he was going to make it through finals week with that same brain.

His roommates had been supportive, for the most part, but he could tell that he was grating on them. Staying up until four or five in the morning, surrounded by papers and eventually passing out at the kitchen table had been his routine for the past three nights, and it was impossible to make it to work on time when he was trying to live with those kind of hours. Lafayette had made excuses to Washington, and he knew that John was pulling more than his fair share of weight down at Libertea to make up for him.

“ _It won’t be long,_ ” he remembered saying to John the previous night. They’d all gone out for dinner with Burr and Theodosia, some ultra-fresh restaurant that Burr had found, and he could tell that John was angry that he was bailing on them in favor of his stack of textbooks and a Cup O’Noodles. “ _It’s just finals. I’ll be back to normal in a week._ ”

That didn’t stop him from feeling a pang of jealousy when Herc posted a picture of the five of them all crowded around a table on Facebook later that night; John didn’t look as happy as he could’ve, and Theodosia’s face looked a little drawn, but they were still all together and he was alone with his books.

The only thing keeping him from breaking down altogether was the fact that Madison was in the same boat as he was. The two of them exchanged notes over text every once in a while, and Madison let it slip that Jefferson wasn’t thrilled about his constant school-induced absence. He was still crashing in Madison’s dorm room until he could move into the apartment above Alex’s at the beginning of the holidays. 

Even that detail didn’t annoy Alex as much as it should’ve. He was in a trench, a single-minded rut of work and hand cramps and broken laptop keys and highlighter stains on shirts. He knew that it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d started to study earlier; he was always like this before finals week.

Well, not _always_. This year was different. He had a job, he had John, he had friends. He never used to want to stop studying, learning, _trying_ , but now he had a reason to stop. He had more than one reason. 

He was three days in and he wanted a break so badly it hurt.

Libertea was in full Wednesday morning swing by the time he got there; Lafayette and John were behind the counter and Herc was mopping up a spill in the back corner. He slung his backpack behind the counter and grabbed his apron, ignoring Lafayette’s muttered French from halfway inside the pastry display. John grinned at him, bright and brilliant, cutting through the fog from studying and working and the two hours and twenty-five minutes of sleep he’d gotten the previous night. 

“You made it,” he said, pushing a mocha chip frappe down the bar. A Converse shoe was doodled on the side, laces pointed up at the sky like it was falling. “I miss you when you play hooky, Ham.”

“I wasn’t playing hooky,” he said, taking a long sip of the drink, ignoring the prickling brain freeze telling him to slow down. If there was one thing he needed, it was caffeine. He was pretty sure that Herc’s pancakes that previous Sunday were the last real food he’d eaten. “I was studying. I have four more days--”

“Until finals start on Monday,” John finished, rolling his eyes and turning back to the espresso machine. “Yeah, Alex, we know. We _all_ know. We’ve been covering for you for the past three days.”

“I know,” Alex said, taking a customer’s card and swiping it. “Double mint frappe. And I’m sorry, okay? I’ve never done this before, taken finals while working at the same time. And then you throw _you_ into the mix--”

“I know, what a fucking pain in the ass, right?”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

John looked over, eyebrows quirked like he was joking, but his eyes didn’t match.

“I’m just trying to prioritize, that’s all,” Alex insisted. John laughed, but it didn’t sound very humorous. 

“You can’t have it all, Alex, you know that, right? A few all-nighters? Sure. But you can’t keep pulling twenty-two hour days like this. Something’s gotta give.”

Alex turned back to the line of customers as he and John quickly fell back into routine and Lafayette headed back into the kitchen. As the breakfast rush melted into the mid-morning rush and into the lunch rush, John ignored him in favor of the espresso machine, and as the day mellowed into fairly slow going for the Libertea employees, Alex pulled out his U.S. Government textbook and ignored him right back.

He let John handle any customer needs as he lost himself in highlighting and scribbling in the margins, perched on a footstool beside the creamer mini-fridge. As customers came and went, Herc brewed a few cups of a tea blend he was testing out, and Lafayette handed out red velvet cake pops, Alex kept his nose firmly in the book. 

_You can’t have it all…_

John’s voice rang in his ears as he used his green highlighter, swiping all over a page about the Bill of Rights until he could barely read the original text. 

He knew John was just trying to help the best way he could, but he didn’t understand. Alex knew what it was like at the bottom of the heap, to have to, from the root, fight for everything his fingers brushed against. Sometimes it was like grasping at straws, and sometimes it was as electric and jarring as taking hold of a live wire. 

Libertea was one of those live wires. His scholarships and tuition grants were one of those live wires. John himself was one of those live wires.

If anyone wanted to take those from him, they’d have to pry his coiled, charred fingers off of them.

He didn’t know how to _not_ fight. He’d give his last breath fighting. He’d work himself into the ground fighting. He’d take physical exertion, he’d take mental exhaustion, he’d take it all if it meant he could have it all.

It was his.

He was keeping it.

_You can’t keep pulling twenty-two hour days…_

John’s words looped in his brain like the chorus of a song as Herc locked up for the night and John forced his chin up for one brief peck on the lips before the three of them headed back to their apartment for dinner; Alex had convinced them he was fine to be left alone to lock up the shop after he was done studying.

With most of the lights dimmed, he made the large back table his desk, spreading everything he needed across the wooden surface. He powered up his laptop and color coordinated his highlighters, ignored a text from Madison, and dove right back in. 

He was fine. This was normal for him; the all-encompassing study sessions, the red lines snaking through his eyes, the unshaven chin, the tied-up hair to keep it out of his face as he bent for hours over textbooks. He was going to do this; he was going to do this and he was going to be great.

The hours ticked by. He ignored the shooting pain in his right hand, ignored the bleariness clouding his vision, ignored the muted buzzing of his phone.

Ignored John’s voice in the back of his mind.

_Something’s gotta give…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: What's the Schuyler way of coping with finals stress? Well, just _take a break._
> 
> Note: Yep, you caught it; the very beginning of this chapter was heavily inspired by "Sunrise" from In The Heights. Listen to it if you haven't yet!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	21. When The Night Gets Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing like winter in the city.............

_“I don't think he's showered since Tuesday.”_

_“God, I know. I asked him to at least change that shirt yesterday and he threw an entire three-ring binder at me. When do his finals start, again?”_

_“Tomorrow.”_

_“I can’t wait until this bullshit is over and he's back to the guy we met a few months ago. Look at him; he passed out all over the table again. I can’t even eat at my own kitchen table, Laf, this has got to--”_

Alex lifted his head. Something had been pressing into his cheek, making a long indent. He looked down. It was a highlighter, cap off. There was no doubt in his mind that there was a blue splotch somewhere on his face.

He turned his (bleary, unfocused) eyes onto his two roommates. 

“I can hear you, you know.”

Lafayette had the decency to look ashamed. “Sorry, _ami_ , I thought you were asleep.”

“If we’re being real,” Herc said, raising an eyebrow and cracking an egg into the bowl on the counter, “I don't give a shit.”

“You're, ah…” Lafayette ran a hand through his untied hair. “Worrying us. Me, Hercules. John, especially.”

“John hasn't said anything,” Alex shot back. 

(This was a lie. John was consistent and persistent about how Alex was worrying him; sending texts when he was at the library, shadowing him at work, coming up behind him whenever he was studying in the apartment, running his hands down his back and promising promises he probably couldn't keep if Alex would just put down his books and _come to bed already--_ ) 

Lafayette looked hurt. Herc looked affronted. 

Alex didn't know what was wrong with him, but both of those expressions gave him a strange sense of satisfaction. Pain was shooting through his right hand, his left eye was bleary from propping his knuckles on that side of his face, and he still had twenty-six pages of notes left to go through, but he’d be damned if his roommates would get the gratification of knowing they were under his skin.

“Fuck,” Herc said, turning back to the stove and lifting up the empty egg carton. “I can’t make breakfast with four eggs.”

“There are four of us,” Lafayette replied, pointedly turning his shoulder to Alex. He rolled his eyes and went back to highlighting, ignoring the fact that he couldn’t really make out the words he was swiping in yellow. “Four eggs, four people.”

“Laf,” Herc said, spreading his arms, “have you _seen_ me?”

Lafayette quirked an eyebrow. “You’re right. And I’m not re-living the _John Laurens and the Two-Egg Omelet_ incident of last year. That was _ridiculous_.”

Herc started whisking his four eggs. “That settles it, then.” 

Alex jerked back in his seat as a slightly damp dishtowel slapped him in the face, wrapping halfway around his head and staying like that until he pulled it off. 

“What the _fuck_ \--”

“Go get eggs,” Herc said, pointing his dripping whisk at the door. “The bodega’s closed Sundays, so go up to Jefferson’s and ask if he has any.”

“You want me to go--”

“Yes,” Herc said, dropping the whisk back into the bowl so he could cross his arms. He was in a white tanktop, and, adding to the intimidation factor, he was glaring. Alex had never been openly glared at by Hercules Mulligan before. “Get your ass out of that chair, go up a floor, and ask our _fucking_ neighbor and our _fucking_ coworker if he has any _fucking_ eggs!”

In a bold move, Alex glared back. 

Jefferson had moved in three days prior. Alex hadn’t gone to the apartment-warming party, but John had, and said that it was mostly booze and a few very spirited rounds of _Cards Against Humanity_. He’d insisted he hadn’t had any fun, but Alex knew better. 

“Why can’t John do it?” 

Herc’s glare intensified, if that was even possible. Lafayette stepped between them, hands splayed in a calming gesture that didn’t leave Alex feeling calm in the slightest.

“We’re not waking up John,” Herc said from over Lafayette’s shoulder. “He put in more work than all of us combined at the shop yesterday, not that you’d know.”

“I was at work yesterday,” Alex shot back. Herc huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah. Sure you were.”

“Fine,” Alex said, pushing his papers aside and standing up. He had to brace himself, knuckles on the table’s surface as his head reeled, but he quickly stabilized, hoping Lafayette and Herc hadn’t noticed. “If that’s what you want, I’ll go get your _fucking_ breakfast.”

“There’s the door.” Herc turned back to the stove, turning dials and grabbing a pan from the cabinet next to his leg. Lafayette pushed a mug full of black coffee across the island with two fingers, raising a sympathetic eyebrow as Alex downed it. 

He turned his back on his roommates and stalked out the apartment’s main door, not bothering to pull his hair back or grab a pair of shoes. He felt like shit, and the entire world was going to know it. 

_And,_ he thought as he put one socked foot in front of the other, making his way from their floor to the stairs leading up to Jefferson’s, _the entire world can kiss my ass._

He rounded the corner. He didn’t even know which apartment was Jefferson’s; he’d forgotten to ask before he stormed out the door. Was he going to have to check every apartment, knock on every door? He didn’t have time for this. If he failed even one test because his precious studying time was taken away because of _eggs_ \--

He stopped in his tracks. 

A hallway stretched out before him, identical to the one below his feet, the one he lived on. Color was intermittently spotted on the white canvas; a custom door knocker, a floral welcome mat, a tiny embroidered pillow hanging from one doorknob with the word “ _OUT_ ” stitched on it in aquamarine. 

“And which one’s Jefferson’s?” Alex asked himself, raising two ultimately disapproving eyebrows as he headed towards apartment 5E, it’s brown “ _Bienvenue!_ ” doormat, and it’s garishly ostentatious bright purple door. “I fucking wonder.”

He knocked three times and stepped back, raking a hand through his hair and rubbing the other down his face. He’d caught a few minutes of sleep at the table, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in his actual bed. Someone had laid him out on the sofa the night before, and he still didn’t know who’d done it. They’d put a blanket over him and everything.

His mouth gaped in a jaw-cracking yawn, right as the door opened.

“Alexander?”

His eyes snapped open.

“ _Angelica_?”

She was there, standing in Jefferson’s doorway, in a pair of baggy plaid sweatpants and a sports bra, hair pushed back off of her makeup-free face with a thin black headband. 

“You’re here?” he asked.

She arched an eyebrow.

“With _him_?” he asked.

The eyebrow arched higher.

“Does Eliza know you’re here?” he asked.

In an impossible feat, the eyebrow reached for the stars.

“My sisters know where I am,” she said, crossing her arms lazily over her torso and leaning, altogether nonchalant, in the doorway. “And now so do you. I don’t do _shame_ , Alexander, it’s not very becoming.”

Someone deeper into the apartment was rustling papers. “Who’s at the door?” 

Alex craned his neck. “Is that _Madison_?”

Angelica came off the wall, standing in Alex’s way; the cross of her arms not indifferent anymore but defensive, protective. “What do you want, Alexander?”

“Herc sent me up here for some eggs,” he said, still trying to look over her shoulder into the apartment. “I doubt there’s any here, though, so I’m just going to go--”

“Morning, Alex,” Madison said, coming up next to Angelica, “and I can check. Give me one second.”

Angelica stepped aside, ushering Alex into the apartment, lips pursed like she really didn’t want to. He followed Madison inside; it was laid out differently than their apartment, with the kitchen directly on the right as soon as he walked through the door, a hallway leading into a dining room, and a curved wall blocking anything else from Alex’s view. 

Madison shuffled into the kitchen, the hem of the robe he was wearing brushing against his socked feet. Alex could see a table from where he was standing, covered in books and papers and cups of water, almost identical to the one he’d left at the apartment downstairs. The rest of the apartment didn’t feel very lived in yet; there was a half-full wine rack on the island and a few things stuck to the refrigerator door with magnets (a few pictures, a shopping list, and a reminder to lock the front door, both in Madison’s handwriting), but no knickknacks or mess on the floor to indicate anyone had lived here for longer than a few days. Angelica leapt up to sit on the island as Madison dug through the refrigerator, muttering occasionally about how everyone was lucky he had the foresight to go grocery shopping.

“How many do you need?” he threw back over his shoulder. Alex leaned on the counter next to Angelica, fighting the urge to yawn again.

“Uh, maybe just the whole carton? I’ll get Herc to pay you back later.”

“I’m keeping one, but you can have the other eleven,” Madison said, taking one egg out of the carton and handing it to Alex, bumping the refrigerator door closed with the heel of his foot. “Deal?”

Alex accepted the carton. “Deal.”

As Madison moved quietly around in the kitchen --taking a small pot out of a cupboard, fiddling with the dials on the stove, running the water in the sink-- Angelica turned back to Alex. Her eyes, far too bright and searching for how early it was, swept over him.

“You need to stop.”

Alex leaned back, immediately on the defense. “Stop what?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” she replied. “You’re running yourself into the ground. Do you know that Lafayette texted Eliza the other day about you?”

“I can take care of myself,” Alex said through gritted teeth, clutching his carton of eggs so hard he was surprised they didn’t break. “Laf should mind his own goddamn business.”

Angelica shrugged one nonchalant shoulder. “When your close friends repeatedly notice something, Alexander, it’s rarely wrong. They care about you.”

“And you don’t?”

“Don’t put this on me.” She hopped down from the counter and turned to face him. “I know you have a problem with Thomas, and James, by extension, but I know you don’t have a problem with me. See me as my own person and your life’s going to be a lot easier.”

“I didn’t mean--”

“I know.” She sized him up again, toes to forehead, her eyes a lot warmer than they had been. “Tell you what. Tell your roommates and meet me in front of Libertea in an hour. I’ll bring my sisters, and I’ll leave them at home. I think Thomas is still sleeping, anyway.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at Madison, who’d retreated back to the dining room table and his textbooks. “Promise me?”

“What for?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just come.”

“Fine,” he said, and she pushed him gently towards the door.

“You’d better bundle up, too. It’s cold out there.”

•••

“So where are we going?” Herc yelled from the very back seat. Angelica had picked them up outside of Libertea in a rented van, grinning in the driver’s seat, with Eliza riding shotgun next to her. They’d been driving for four minutes, Peggy had requested _”Gangnam Style”_ three times, and John had “subtly” tried to sit in Alex’s lap twice.

Angelica twisted around in her seat for a brief second. “Shut up and let me drive, Mulligan!”

Peggy was between Lafayette and Herc in the backseat, Alex shared the middle seat with John, and Eliza manned the radio with military grade efficiency in the passenger seat. All Alex knew was that there was a cooler in the trunk, they were all wearing a variety of puffy coats, hats, and scarves, and tiny flakes of snow drifted intermittently down from the grey clouds overhead. 

Angelica made a sharp right, and John fell into Alex’s lap for the third time.

“Whoops,” he said, making himself comfortable, gently butting the underside of Alex’s chin with the top of his head. “Sorry for all the touching. It’s almost like I never get to see you.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I’m being serious! I care about your school too, Alex, but not when it makes you act like this.”

“Like what, exactly?”

John shrugged. “Like you only have time for that.”

“I don’t act like that,” Alex said, yelping a little as Peggy pulled the end of his ponytail. “What the hell, Schuyler!”

“We’re not talking about school,” she said from behind him. He couldn’t turn to look at her because of John’s arms wrapped around his neck. “Or work, or any of that shit, okay? Ang made me promise to keep you in line, so next time I hear it, the ponytail’s coming _off_ , got it?”

“Fine,” he muttered, pressing his lips to the top of John’s head, his untied curls tickling his nose. They rode for ten more minutes like that; John on Alex’s lap, Peggy reading movie trivia questions off of her phone, and Eliza giving Angelica directions from the piece of paper smoothed over her left leg.

Alex must have dozed off; between John’s warm body on top of his and the gently rocking motion of the car, it was inevitable. He jerked awake as Peggy pulled on his ponytail again.

“We’re here,” Angelica called back to the rest of the car. “Get out, someone grab the cooler.”

They all piled out, Alex between John and Lafayette, as Herc hoisted the cooler onto his shoulder and dragged it out with him. They were on a beach; Alex could hear the roar of the waves even if he couldn’t see the ocean over the sandy dunes. Cold, bracing wind whipped a few stray pieces of hair into his eyes, and he brushed them back as they congregated into a circle. 

“The beach?” Lafayette asked, looking around. “It’s a little cold for that, don’t you think?”

“It’s never too cold for the beach,” Angelica said, tying the straps of her peacoat tighter around her waist as Eliza wiggled her hat further down over her ears in the background. “Now, I brought booze and I got Alex out of the house for once, so let’s have a good time.”

Herc and Peggy cheered, and the seven of them crossed the dunes until the ocean was in sight. Something about the crashing waves and the desolate, snowy beach put Alex immediately at ease, and he leaned into John’s shoulder as they walked. 

Angelica spread out all of the blankets she’d brought onto the sand a few yards from the ocean, and they sprawled out, passing bottles of Sam Adams around and teasing Herc and Peggy for sitting on the same blanket. Alex’s legs got all tangled with John’s as they laid out on their stomachs, pressed together for warmth, intermittently taking sips out of the same bottle and talking like they hadn’t in days. He was calm. He was content. His books and papers were forty minutes away and he was the happiest he’d been in too long.

He caught Angelica’s eye. She grinned. He stuck his tongue out.

“So,” he said, making an exaggerated half-turn towards Eliza, “you know where your sister was last night?”

“Oh _please_ ,” Angelica said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly and flipping over onto her back. Eliza looked at Alex, confused, over the top of her beer bottle.

“She was at Jefferson’s, right?” she asked like Alex was telling her a riddle. “Unless something else happened that I wasn’t told.”

“How _was_ that?” Peggy asked from the opposite side of the blanket island, sitting back-to-back with Herc, tossing Cheez-Its into the air as he tried to catch them. “Tom texted me like an hour ago but he didn’t give me a lot of info. I think he was still trying to wake up.”

“You have his number?” Angelica asked. Peggy scoffed.

“Of course I do. Some dude’s trying to get my sister to go all poly? I’m keeping an eye on that.”

Lafayette sat up. “Okay, _now_ I need to know what’s going on.”

Eliza shrugged. “Jefferson likes Ang and James, and thinks he can have them both.”

Alex pointed a triumphant finger at Eliza. “There you go. ‘Liza doesn’t like him either. I win.”

“It’s not that I don’t _like_ him--”

“Seriously, Eliza?” Angelica shot from her corner of the blanket. 

“I don’t trust him,” she amended. “Yet, I mean. I trust James, though. He’s a sweetheart.”

“You just trust him ‘cause he doesn’t want to have sex with me,” Angelica said. “And Alex is just bitter. So both of your opinions are irrelevant.”

“Hey!” Alex and Eliza said at the same time. Peggy cackled from her blanket. 

“ _Schuyler and Jefferson and Madison sitting in a tree-e-e-e…_ ” she crooned. Angelica threw a glob of wet sand at her. 

“We’re just experimenting,” she said as an aside to Lafayette, who still seemed genuinely interested. “Thomas has had this on-again-off-again thing for ages with James, and when I met him in France the two of us kind of hit it off. It’s new, but it’s fun.”

“Whatever makes you happy,” Lafayette said, accepting another Sam Adams from her outstretched hand. She pointed at him.

“And _that’s_ how you get on my good side.”

Lafayette laughed, and the seven of them stayed like that for another hour, eventually moving their blankets as close as they could get and cuddling together in a heap, passing bottles around and letting the alcohol warm them up from the inside as they shared body heat. John was lazily carding his gloved fingers through Alex’s loose hair, scratching along his hairline as Alex kicked at Peggy’s feet, waited for her to kick back, and then retaliated. 

Somewhere deep in his coat pocket, his phone buzzed.

**J. Madz**

JM: Jay dropped out.

JM: We have to finish his part of the project ASAP.

JM: Meet me at the campus library in an hour.

“Shit,” he muttered, still staring at his phone. John flipped over.

“What is it? Don’t tell me homework’s literally calling you,” he joked. Alex stood up, pushing John’s legs off of his and almost stepping on Herc in the process. He stumbled a little, but steadied himself well enough.

“I have to go,” he said. “I have to finish Jay’s part of our finals project.”

John shot to his feet.

“You can’t be fucking serious!”

“I wish I wasn’t,” Alex shot back, “but I have to go do this.”

“Come _on_ ,” John said. “You’ve been in a shitty mood for the past week and now that we’re all together you’re just ditching?”

Alex held his arms out in surrender. “I don’t know what to tell you, John.”

“You don’t have to _tell me_ anything, just stay!”

“This is _school_ we’re talking about, okay? It’s my _job_ , it’s my _future_! If I want to make anything out of myself I have to do this, I can’t sling fucking _coffee_ for the rest of my life!”

John took a step back, shock and hurt coloring his face, and Alex raked a hand through his hair.

“Shit. I didn’t mean--”

“Save it,” John said, turning back to the group, sitting as silent witnesses on the blanket pile. “Go do what you have to do. We’ll talk later.”

“What does that mean?” Alex asked, but John didn’t answer. Eliza gave him a sympathetic look over Angelica’s bristling shoulder as he turned away, fingers already moving across his phone’s touchscreen to call himself a cab.

•••

It took them four hours hunched over papers and Madison’s laptop in the library, but the two of them managed to finish all twenty-five pages of Jay’s part of the project. That, combined with Madison’s forty-nine pages and Alex’s seventy-one (he’d earned himself many glares from Madison for that one), made up the one hundred and thirty-five pages of their report that they needed for their group project on the last day of finals.

They hadn’t really talked; Alex had given Madison a few dollars for the carton of eggs he’d taken that morning, and they’d exchanged ideas about the project, but that was it. Alex was left alone with his thoughts for the most part, and they were all about John.

How hurt and angry John had looked, how he’d seemed almost betrayed as Alex turned away, how leaving that beach might have been the biggest mistake of his life…

“Alex?” Madison asked as they hiked their backpacks over their shoulders in preparation to leave the library. The librarian had agreed to let them stay fifteen minutes past closing, but it was dark outside and Madison had been eager to finish up and go home. “You looked a little lost in thought for a second. Is everything okay?”

Alex’s shoulders dropped, and he felt more than ever the heavy weight of his backpack on his back. “Nah, I’m fine. I don’t really want to go home, is all.”

Madison raised an eyebrow as they pushed open the heavy double doors and stepped into the frigid night air, a few snowflakes swirling in the wind. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Alex replied. What was he going to say? _I said something stupid. My boyfriend’s mad at me. If I go home I know we’re going to fight. We’ve never fought before. I don’t know if we’re that fragile that one fight will break us up. I don’t want to find out._

“Okay,” Madison responded like he wasn’t really convinced, hiking his own backpack further up on his shoulders as Jefferson shrieked around the corner in his Espada. “Do you want a ride?”

Alex declined politely, figuring that telling Madison _I’d rather die than set foot in that car_ wouldn’t help the situation at all, and watched as Jefferson parked in the middle of two spaces and Madison walked down the steps to meet him. Jefferson slung an arm around his shoulders briefly before grabbing his backpack and slinging it into the backseat, pointing Madison towards the driver’s seat.

They went back and forth, too far away for Alex to hear, but eventually Madison grinned and slid into the driver’s seat. Jefferson climbed over him to get to the passenger seat and they inched out of the driveway. Alex could practically picture Madison’s cautious foot on the gas pedal, Jefferson watching with that soft vulnerability he only showed to Madison, the stress of school and tests and finals somehow compartmentalized away from their relationship in a way that Alex had no idea how to accomplish.

It started to snow in earnest as Alex walked back to the apartment, taking the long way both to clear his head and to avoid Jefferson, Madison, and another offer to ride in the back seat of the Espada, another place that he didn’t belong.

His phone buzzed.

**Angelica S.**

AS: hey bitch

AS:Peggy just grabbed my phone

AS: Hold on

AS: Peggy has been eliminated.

AS: But her statement still stands. Hey bitch.

AS: We’re all at our apartment. You should come by

AS: I *know* the library’s closed.

AS: Take a break!!

Alex turned his phone off and shoved his phone back into his coat pocket as he made his way up a street he’d never seen before. Angelica didn’t understand, Eliza didn’t understand, _John_ didn’t understand. There was no room in his life for breaks. There was no room in his life for sitting in someone’s apartment taking shots and watching _The Bachelor_. He needed to get back to his apartment, he needed to finish up his half-done poli-sci paper before finals started, and he needed to get some sleep.

He was so tired.

Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, brought on by either the wind whipping across his face or sheer exhaustion, he didn’t know. He swiped a gloved hand across his eyes, not looking where he was going as he rounded a corner at top speed.

“Fuck!” he said, jumping back from whoever he’d just bumped into. Her phone clattered to the pavement as she stumbled back, brown curls flying, and he dove to pick it up before it could get covered in snow. “I’m so sorry!”

She reached to get it at the same time he did, and their foreheads knocked together. She grabbed his shoulder for support, and they both stood there for a second, doubled over, laughing.

“Sorry,” Alex said between bursts of laughter and tears, which weren’t staying in the corners of his eyes anymore, but dripping down his cheeks. “It’s been a long day.”

“I hear that,” the girl said, accepting her phone back. She was bundled up in a black coat and gloves, and her loose hair framed an open, accepting face, makeup done to perfection, lips rose red. She swiped one thumb under his eye, catching a tear. “Although, I feel like yours was a little worse than mine.”

“I’m just stressed.” Alex shoved his hands into his pockets and figured that if he hadn’t wanted to talk to Madison, he shouldn’t really confide in a perfect stranger, but then she was moving her thumb underneath his other eye, he was looking up at the snowy sky, and taking a deep breath. “I’m going home and my boyfriend and I are going to fight. I’m Alex, by the way.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing, Alex?”

“I don’t know. We’ve never had a fight before. I’ve just been distant, I guess, with finals coming up, and it’s a new relationship, and I don’t want to lose him--”

“Shh,” she said, putting her gloved finger to his lips. “Let’s get you a drink, huh? It’s freezing out here and you don’t want to fight sober, believe me. I know.”

Alex took a step back. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

She took his hand, pulling him forward. “One drink. You and me. I know you’re a good guy, Alex, and think we both need to be away from our boyfriends for a minute or two tonight.”

He nodded assent and she smiled.

“My name’s Maria, by the way,” she said. “Maria Lewis.”

He grinned back, tears forgotten, impending fight pushed to the back of his mind. “After you, Miss Lewis.”

She pulled him down the street and up another one, her hair pushed back by the wind and glistening with melting snowflakes, until they were outside of a familiar place. Connexion d’Amour wasn’t as full as it had been the night Alex had punched Jefferson and gotten him and John kicked out, but a small line still formed by the door and he could hear the thumping bass from out on the street.

“Have you ever been here before?” Maria asked loudly as she pointed something out on the bouncer’s guest list and they both slipped inside. He nodded, afraid his voice would be lost in the music.

She led him to the bar, ordered him something blue full of red cherries, and herself something clear with lemons. They sat there for what felt like seconds, until Alex looked down and saw that he had three empty glasses in front of him.

“Another one,” he said to the bartender, unaware of the volume of his voice, and turned to Maria, who was still sipping her first drink, lost in thought. “You have a boyfriend, you said.”

“Yeah,” she replied, setting her drink on the bar. 

“You like him?”

“He’s all right. What about yours?”

Alex took a long drink of blue and cherries. “His name’s John. He touches my hair sometimes and makes me terrible scrambled eggs and tries to get me to stop working. Why does everyone try to get me to stop working?”

He looked over at Maria, brain swimming in a dark sea of alcohol and sleep deprivation and words and sentences and paragraphs. Everything was dim except her red lips and her kind eyes and her soft hands that had brushed away his tears earlier and could make everything better--

“Do you want to dance?” she asked.

_John_ , his brain said, but his brain was drowning. 

He took another drink, finished it, and Maria took another sip of her clear drink, one lemon wedge floating in the ice near the top. 

He set the glass down on the bar and, for the second time that night, took her outstretched hand.

The dance floor was exactly how he remembered it, dark, sweaty, glitter-speckled, and wonderful. He didn’t even know what music was playing; his brain only registered the bass and the singer’s rhythmic voice as Maria twirled in front of him. She’d shed her coat back at the bar and was wearing a dress that matched her lipstick shade for shade, cut low in the front and high above her knees. The music intensified as they did, getting closer and closer as the crowd jumped and shifted, together and apart, together and apart.

“ _No, no, no!_ ” the singer chanted.

“ _No, no, no!_ ” the crowd cheered back.

Alex cupped Maria’s cheeks with his hands as she pressed her body flush against his, he tilted her chin, she curled her arms around his neck, their lips touched and consumed one another with the ravenous heat of a forest fire.

_John_ , his brain said, but his brain was burning.

The crowd and the singer and the dance floor and the alcohol and the girl all intertwined as Alex kissed Maria, feeling free and rebellious and _good_. She wasn’t fighting with him, she wasn’t tricking him into stopping his work, she wasn’t anything but soft and elastic and lovely in his arms.

She broke away first, but as the song faded into a different one they were kissing again, and again, and again, twisted together on the dance floor in a dark room on a winter night in a cold city where Alex had tried for years to belong.

_John_ , his brain said, but his brain was forgotten.

•••

Alex’s phone buzzed in the middle of the night, and white-hot tendrils of pain shot through his head. He was laying on his sofa bed, halfway between drunk and hungover, and somehow he’d made it home and was able to fall asleep before his roommates had returned from the Schuylers’. He grabbed his phone, if only to make it stop buzzing, and checked his texts.

He expected it to be John, but it was an unknown number.

Three pictures, him and Maria, outside of the club, drinking at the bar, heading to the dance floor.

Five in a row. They were kissing, he had his hands on her face, she had her arms thrown over his shoulders. They were twined together like the world was ending. The pictures were dark and grainy, but the reality of them was stark and clear as daylight.

“Fuck,” Alex breathed out. 

He knew he’d been drunk, he knew the gist of what he’d done, but _this…_

This was unforgivable.

John... John's deep brown eyes and the freckles on his ears and the way he yawned early in the morning, stretching out his arms as he struggled to get out of bed. How he kissed Alex even when Alex knew he didn't deserve it, how his lips were always soft and warm and _there_. How much he cared, how much he loved. How dare he do this to John Laurens? How dare he even _think_ about doing something to hurt someone who loved him?

His head pounded. His heartbeat came in quick bursts, staccato against his ribcage as he laid on his back, staring at the dark ceiling, thinking about Maria's lips on his and John's lips on his and what he would give to erase every wrong he'd ever done.

John wasn't going to find out. 

John _could never_ find out.

The phone buzzed one more time. A text.

**Unknown Number**

hey alex

miss me?? it's been a while

saw you kissing my gf earlier tonight.

i’ll give you details later, but i’m sure we can work something out...

anything can happen if the price is right.

-james reynolds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Making deals and keeping secrets.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	22. You Got More Than You Gave (And I Wanted What I Got)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the (alleyway, coffeeshop, street corner, apartment) where it happens.

As soon as he woke up, Alex could still feel her on his lips.

She was still there, _Maria_ ; her red dress spinning through his mind, her her warm body pressed flush against his…

The person next to him shifted, groaning slightly as Alex reared back, surprised for a heartbeat until he realized it was John. He must have snuck in after Alex had fallen asleep, wedging himself in the tiny open space next to him on the bed.

He looked so calm, so content. Untamed curls fluffed out over his forehead as he snored, light and unaffected, wiggling closer and closer to Alex even as he slept. He was beautiful, honestly, and Alex’s chest ached. _This_ is what he was ruining, _this_ was the direct consequence of whatever he was trying to pull with Maria Lewis. 

Alex managed to turn over without waking John. He couldn’t look at him, not when he could still taste Maria. 

His phone was still on the floor next to him, unplugged, most likely almost dead. Maria’s boyfriend, James Reynolds, whoever that was, had sent him one more text before he’d fallen asleep; a summons. He was supposed to meet him before his shift at Libertea, and he had no idea what to expect.

Still careful not to jostle or move John in any way, Alex got out of bed, gently draping his end of the blanket back over John’s shoulders. He was going to make this right, all of this dirty business, and no one was ever going to find out. 

He had a schedule planned for the day. Take a shower, get blackmailed by Maria’s boyfriend, work a half shift at Libertea, take two finals, convince Herc to make him at least three consecutive Long Island iced teas, and do the whole thing over again the next day, and the next, and the next, until things were back to normal.

He’d fight for normal. He’d _kill_ for normal.

John shifted in his sleep, and Alex’s chest tightened.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to the dark room before slipping out of the door.

•••

Alex raked his fingers through still-damp hair, tying it back as he raced through the early morning streets of New York. He wasn’t sure what James Reynolds was like, but if his texts were anything to go by, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to keep waiting. He tugged gloves on with his teeth and slipped a hat over his ponytail; the winter winds were frigid and bracing, whipping between the skyscrapers and biting any exposed skin.

Making his way towards Connexion d’Amour, he tried not to think about what he was doing. Tried not to think about his friends back in the apartment, cooking breakfast and getting ready for the day without him. Tried not to think about John, just now waking up to an empty bed with no explanation.

_Text him,_ his brain urged. _Don’t be a dick._

Alex shot off a text, still feeling like absolute scum, standing across the street from the empty nightclub and waiting for the boyfriend of the girl he’d cheated his own boyfriend with.

**♥**

AH: Sorry to run off, I’m taking a walk before work...

AH: Trying to clear my head

It wasn’t even five seconds before John sent him a message back.

_You’re missing Herc’s hashbrowns,_ he texted. _Don’t worry, I’ll save you some. See you at work!_

The text was followed by two lines of kissy-face emojis, and Alex replied with a few of his own, even though the yellow faces stared back at him with dead eyes and pursed, judging lips.

_Cheater… Cheater… Cheater…_

“Hamilton?” 

Alex spun around, coming face-to-face with a man that could only be James Reynolds. The collar of his black coat was turned up against the wind, and his shaven head and close-cut stubble framed close-drawn brows, calculating eyes, and thin lips. 

“That’s me,” he replied. Reynolds smirked.

“Nice hat.”

Alex tugged the knit cap further down over his ears. It was green and gold striped, with a matching pom-pom on the top; Herc had knitted it for him before finals had started. There was no way he was taking it off, even if a well-dressed stranger was trying to bully him into it. Reynolds was already intimidating enough; he wasn’t getting that satisfaction, too.

“Thanks. You’re James?”

“Reynolds, yes.” He stuck out one leather-gloved hand and Alex shook it, his gray dollar gloves a stark contrast to Reynolds’. Alex retracted his hand, rolling his shoulders back slightly like he was steeling himself for battle. 

_This is for John,_ he reminded himself, _for your relationship, for everything you stand to lose. You fucked up,_ bigtime, _and now you need to fix it. Whatever it takes._

“So,” Reynolds began, “I have some dirt on you, huh, Ham?”

Alex bit back a _fuck you_. “What do you want?”

He chuckled, leaning one shoulder on the brick wall behind them. “God, I love when Maria reels in suckers like you. Easy targets. Hook, line, sinker. _Boom_.”

Alex took a step back. “What do you mean, _reels in_?”

“You really think this was all random? That’s adorable. Call it a hobby, I guess. Another way to pay the bills.”

“ _Maria_ \--”

“She’s in on it, too.” Reynolds cocked an eyebrow. “Not that she can leave, or anything. She's just as defenseless as you, in a way.”

“This is disgusting--”

“Sure. _I’m_ disgusting, you cheating asshole.”

“You’ve been watching me--”

“Observing.”

“--for _months_ \--”

“It really was a nail-biter for a while there,” Reynolds continued, “between your barista boy and the middle Schuyler, I thought we were going to have a real _Bachelor_ moment. A fight for the death over a rose, or something dramatic like that. But Eliza Schuyler likes girls and you were smitten as a kitten with a mitten over our boy John Laurens, until miss Maria Lewis walked into your life, right?”

“Eliza’s not a lesbian,” Alex said, “and leave them out of it!”

“It’s embarrassing that I know more about your friends than you do,” Reynolds said. “And don’t worry, they’re not in it. It’s just you and me, and, in a way, isn’t that worse?”

“Why are you doing this? Why _me?_ ”

“You’re acting like you’re the first lust-stricken fool to get wrapped up in my web,” Reynolds said, smirking like he was doing a back-alley version of a James Bond movie villain final speech. “There’s no method to it, Hamilton. Gullible you, bored me, _boom_. Let the sparks fly.”

“And,” he continued, “I do love finals. Stressed out college kids desperate for someone to say that it’s all gonna be all right.” He laughed. “I’d kiss ‘em myself, but they seem to like Maria better.” 

He took two steps in Alex’s direction, blocking out the early morning sun, the easy grin on his face growing deeper, more sinister.

“Here’s how this is going to work, Hamilton. After your shift every Friday --Washington pays you on Fridays, right?-- you’re going to go to the ATM, get out one hundred dollars, five twenties, _exactly_. No paying me in pennies or any other bullshit. You’re going to walk it here, right outside the club, and give it to me or Maria, whoever’s here to meet you. After that? I don’t care. The night is yours.”

“What does this arrangement get you, you ask?” He held up five fingers, ticking them down after each point. “Peace of mind. Silence from me. A lighter wallet. A very interesting chapter in the biography of your life later on down the road. And unlimited visits to Maria, whore of your heart, whenever you please.”

Alex recoiled. “Don’t talk about her like that!”

“I apologize, _savior of the needy_ , I didn’t know your intentions were so pure,” Reynolds said, slapping an exaggerated hand over his heart. “She works most nights at Connexion d’Amour, whenever you feel like befouling you and John Laurens’ marital bed again.”

He grinned, all bared teeth and bright eyes.

“I’ll pay you your money,” Alex managed to get out through gritted teeth, pulling out his wallet and flicking through the crumpled up bills; three twenties, two tens, four fives, “but I’m not cheating on John again.”

“You will.” Reynolds threw that and the tail end of a laugh over his shoulder as he turned away, waving a nonchalant, cash filled hand at Alex over his head. “Believe me, they always do.”

He rounded the corner, out of sight, but Alex could still hear his gleeful voice, traveling back to him on the bitter winter wind.

“ _Boom!_ ”

•••

Alex didn’t know how, but, somehow, he felt _better_ after his meeting with James Reynolds. His wallet felt light and empty, groceries would have to wait, but the gnawing despair in the pit of his stomach was sated for now. He doubted he’d feel calm for long, but it was such a rare feeling lately that he was practically reveling in it.

Washington clapped his hands once at the head of the table. He’d called a meeting that morning, and as soon as Alex had walked into the shop (late, but that was the new normal), Herc had pulled him over to the large table in the back corner. Madison and Jefferson sat at the far end, Jefferson’s legs tangled underneath Madison’s, and every once in a while he’d lift his phone and they’d make simultaneous face at the camera. Lafayette and Herc were across from each other, passing one of Libertea’s complimentary copies of the _Times_ back and forth, tossing out comments along with the articles. Alex was at the other end of the table, across from Burr, who, for some reason, was there, poop emoji on his Americano and everything. A few customers were in line, but the shop was fairly empty.

“Thank you all for coming,” Washington began. “Mr. Laurens is filling orders, but I was told he’s able to multi-task--”

“Speak up, George!” John called from the counter. Washington hid a grin.

“And I was told he’s able to do it _quietly_.”

John laughed, and Alex’s phone pinged. It was a snapchat; Madison and Jefferson with the dog filter. He sent one back, a side shot of Burr with a flower crown, the middle-finger emoji alone in the text bar. He heard Jefferson snicker from the other end of the table.

“I called this meeting for a few reasons,” Washington continued. “One, to welcome our new Libertwo barista into the family. Mr. Burr--”

“ _What_!” Alex shot up in his seat. “Burr, what the fuck? You got hired here?”

“You didn’t know?” Burr said, raising an eyebrow. “It wasn’t exactly a secret.”

“He changed it on his Facebook and everything,” John offered from across the shop.

“Gotta love that finals brain,” Madison muttered. Burr shrugged an apologetic shoulder over at Alex, who was still fairly shocked. 

“There’ve been some, uh, unexpected expenses in my life recently,” he said. “I told you I was looking for a job, and when Mr. Washington mentioned opening a second shop…”

“We’re very happy to welcome Mr. Burr into the fold,” Washington said, landing a heavy hand on Burr’s shoulder. “He’s been a loyal customer for years, has a good head on his shoulders, and will no doubt be a valuable asset to Libertwo. If you ever need anything…”

He looked down at Burr; a very meaningful look that Alex didn’t understand at all. Burr seemed to, though, and nodded hurriedly as if wishing Washington would talk about anything other than him. 

“And speaking of Libertwo,” Washington continued, pulling up a chair, “I have a revised schedule for the next few weeks. Some of you--” he looked over at Herc “--have been invaluable helping with the construction of Libertwo recently, and I can’t thank you enough. However, with the holidays coming up, I’ll need all hands on deck here. You have the holiday tea bags, right?”

Herc nodded. “They came in yesterday. Thomas told me he can help blend all of the new mixes I came up with, if that’s okay.”

Washington nodded back, making marks on a scrap of paper. “Take whoever you need. James, you can help the marquis in the kitchen, maybe pick up some recipes to use when you bake over at the second shop.”

Madison accepted Lafayette’s high-five, turning towards Jefferson with something almost like a smirk. “It’s best we keep you far away from kitchens, right?”

Jefferson slapped a mortally offended hand over his heart. “Shut the fuck up, Jemmy, _God_ \--” 

“And Mr. Hamilton,” Washington continued, turning to Alex, “I want you to train Aaron on the register and all of your front counter duties, well enough that he can take them over when you leave for class today. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Alex replied, Herc threw a salute, and they dispersed; Washington went up to his office, Lafayette and Madison disappeared into the kitchen, Herc went over to the wall and started passing tins of tea back to Jefferson, and Alex took Burr behind the counter with John. 

Burr leaned up against the pastry case. “Alexander--”

“Mr. Burr,” Alex replied, opening the register to do a quick inventory, “sir.”

“If I had known you didn’t know the news yet I would have told you,” he said. “I just assumed that you’d know. You live with three people that work here, after all…”

“Yeah,” Alex replied, raising his eyebrows at John, who was drawing a Pikachu on someone’s cup. “I wonder how that bit of information slipped past me.”

John threw his Sharpie back into the cup on the counter and handed the drink across the counter.

“These past couple of days you haven’t been… Well, _present_ ,” he said, coming over to nudge Alex in the ribs. “Burr could have sung and danced an entire fucking Broadway number and you wouldn’t have even noticed.”

“Well that’s just not true,” Alex said, shooting a grin over at Burr. “If Aaron started dancing, I’d definitely remember it.”

Burr rolled his eyes, laying both hands on the register. “Just teach me how to use this thing, _coworker_.”

“Okay,” Alex began, taking out his debit card to use as an example, “here it is. The art of the trade--”

“How the sausage gets made,” John said from over by the espresso machine, winking and wiggling his hips when they both looked over. Burr gave Alex a very pointed look.

“Listen, if this is what this job’s going to be like--”

Alex laughed as John came up behind Burr, rubbing their shoulders together.

“We’re coworkers now, Aaron,” he said, “that’s practically family. That’s _more_ than family, if we’re being real. I need to give you my emergency information, and you should probably give me a key to your apartment…”

“Theo!” Burr practically yelled as the bells on the door jangled and Theodosia stepped in, resplendent in a dark coat and thigh-high boots, hair coiled on top of her head. She didn’t look very happy, but still smiled at Burr, anyway. “Save me from these assholes; I think they’re trying to move in with me, or something.”

“Sorry, boys,” she said, claiming a seat at the bar. “He’s already got a roommate, and I don’t think he needs another one.”

She blew Burr a kiss and he visibly melted.

“Look at you,” she continued, accepting a cup of black coffee from John, “in an apron and everything. My working man.”

“It’s not very glamorous,” Burr said, retying the straps on said apron. “And I have to hang out with these douchebags all day. But it pays the bills.”

They shared a look, a deep look, a look full of understanding and longing and pure, raw emotion, a look that had Alex taking a miniscule step back like he was intruding on something intimate and personal. But as soon as it came it was gone, and Burr was turning back to Alex and John.

“Okay, now that I work here, I have to know everybody’s business. The only things I know so far is that Alex hates Jefferson, and really likes you.” 

That was to John, who beamed.

“And I don’t _hate_ Jefferson,” Alex argued, “I just--”

“Glare whenever he’s around,” Burr said.

“Have him in your burn book,” Theo offered, “ _Mean Girls_ style.”

“Literally debate him in your sleep,” John concluded. “We sleep in the same bed. It’s been hell.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Alex said pointedly, “Burr, you know us. We’re the same on this side of the counter, believe me.”

“There has to be drama,” Theo said, leaning her elbows on the counter. “What about Jefferson and Madison and Angelica? Tell me the details.”

“How do you know about that?” John asked, and Burr looked equally confused. “If Jefferson put anything online I think Mads and Angelica would kill him and dump his body in the Hudson, right?”

Theo shrugged one shoulder. “I went to lunch with Angelica the other day.”

“What?” Alex asked at the same time Burr raised both eyebrows.

“When?”

“Tell _us_ the details,” John demanded.

Theo grinned. “That’s for me to know…”

The three boys behind the counter groaned as Theo grinned wider, texting and obviously reveling in all she’d caused. Alex glanced at the clock; it was almost eleven thirty, he’d have to be quick if he wanted to get a good seat before his first final started.

“I have to go,” he said by way of explanation as he stripped off his apron and grabbed his coat. “Burr, you got the gist of it, right?”

“You showed me twice,” Burr said, rolling his eyes. “But I think I can handle it.”

“Wait for me,” Theo said as he headed for the door. “Let me say goodbye to Aaron and I’ll walk with you.”

“Okay,” he agreed, and leaned against the doorframe. As she leaned across the counter to say something to Burr without John being able to hear, Jefferson left the table where he’d been bagging tea with Herc and strolled across the store towards Alex.

“What’re you doing tonight, Ham?” he asked without much preamble, stopping in front of Alex, arms crossed low over his chest. “You’re free. Good.”

“I didn’t even--”

“Remember how Washington wants us to _bury the hatchet?_ ” Jefferson asked, eyes flashing. “Come over for dinner tonight. I’m a great cook.”

He paused. Amended.

“Madison’s a great cook.”

Alex crossed his arms, emulating Jefferson’s pose. “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch, Hamilton, _God_.”

“Like hell there’s not. Last time we hung out, it didn’t exactly end well.”

_\--throwing punches and strobe lights and alcohol on the tiles and rough hands on arms and John’s laughter ringing over the milling crowd--_

Jefferson quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll behave if you behave.”

Alex paused. Thought about it. With his current track record of doing awful things, he could at least do something good. Fix his relationship with Jefferson, make Washington proud of him. Maybe he’d even get back on Herc and Lafayette’s good side by making nice with their two other friends.

“Fine, I’m in.”

Jefferson grinned his sharp teeth grin as Theodosia came up behind him, coat tied around her waist. “Good. Eight o’clock, and I think you know your way up to my apartment.”

“I think I can figure it out,” he said as Jefferson turned away and he left Libertea, waving back at John, who blew him a kiss as Burr did the same for Theo. The two of them stepped around puddles of melting snow as they made their way down the street, dodging tourists and fast-walking natives, their breath coming in cloudy bursts. Alex glanced over at her every once in a while, taking in the downward curve of her eyebrows, the steel in her eyes, the dark bags under them.

“Is he doing all right?” she asked suddenly, looking over. “Aaron, I mean. I know you haven’t been around much, but he hasn’t been sleeping, and…”

She took a deep breath. She looked different, Alex thought, in a way that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Her face shape, maybe; how her cheekbones curved more prominently, how her lips were drawn and chapped, how she hadn’t taken the time to fill in her eyebrows.

She seemed to know he was examining her, and straightened her shoulders.

“I’m sick.”

“What?” Alex replied. She crossed her arms against the cold as they walked.

“They don’t know what it is yet, but I know I’m sick,” she explained. “I don’t have an appetite, and even when I eat I lose weight. The other day I took a shit, and--”

She sucked in a deep breath.

“Too much information. I’m sorry. My point is, Aaron’s not doing well, either. I sold my place the other week and I’m staying with him, but some nights I stay with George and Martha--”

“Washington?”

“Yeah,” Theo said. “Martha’s a nurse, I don’t know if you knew that or not, but she works nights, so I know she’ll be able to help me if I need it.

Alex bit his lip, wiggling a bit of skin between his bottom and top teeth. He didn’t know what to do; he didn’t know whether to hug her or put a comforting hand on her shoulder, or whether either of those things would be comforting at all. 

(He knew they wouldn’t be. His mother had died of an incurable sickness when he was twelve, he’d been repulsed by the constant stream of comforting hands on shoulders and hugs and gift baskets full of damn _fruit_ of all things, like fruit was going to make his mom able to stand on her own again.)

He blew a cloud of steam into the air, knowing normalcy was the only thing he could give to her.

“And through all this you’re worried about Aaron?”

“He worries about me, I worry about him,” she said, tying the straps of her coat tighter around her waist. “It’s a never ending cycle of fucking worrying, Alex, and just add cancer to it--”

“ _Cancer?_ ”

“I’m not saying that’s what it is,” she said. “I’m just saying that both of my parents died of cancer. I’m not sitting back and _taking it easy_ just because some quack doctor says I’m not showing any symptoms _when my piss is fucking brown_ \--”

She heaved out a shuddering breath, dragging one hand across her face. 

“I didn’t want to drag anyone else into this,” she continued, “but I just want to make sure Aaron’s doing all right. And now that you’re working together…” 

She looked over, her eyes warm against the jarring backdrop of cold.

“He looks up to you. He likes you.”

Alex laughed. “I’m sure he does.”

She punched his shoulder. “I _know_ he does, shut up. We both do. You’re a good guy, Alex Hamilton. We’re lucky to be friends with you.”

_I’m a fucking cheater,_ his brain whispered.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” his lips said. 

Theo hugged him, then, on the steps of his lecture hall in the middle of December with flurries of snow swirling around them. He felt her frail body, thin even through the layers she wore, pressed against his chest, her pounding heartbeat, her ragged breaths coming in cloudy spurts.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said quietly into her hair, repeating words that had been said so often to him by his mom’s bedside back in Nevis, words that he’d never believed, words that hadn’t saved her life.

•••

Two finals, a shower, and an episode of _New Girl_ on the couch cuddled up with John (he’d let himself forget about Reynolds and school and stress for an entire twenty-two minutes) later, Alex was standing in front of Jefferson’s still obscenely purple apartment door, nice blazer on, bottle of twelve dollar wine in hand. He allowed himself the tiniest sigh of relief when Madison answered the door; burying the hatchet be damned, he wasn’t about to be alone with Jefferson for more time than he had to be.

“Thanks,” Madison said, accepting the wine on behalf of Jefferson, who was nowhere to be found. He set the wine on the counter between the already full rack and a bowl of various things (a few apples, a set of spare car keys, half a bag of wrapped Kit Kats, two recipes ripped out of a magazine), and opened the stove. 

Alex leaned against the counter as Madison bustled around, carrying things to and from the dining room table (set, four glasses already poured of a much nicer wine than the one Alex had brought). He’d offered his help, but it was quickly rebuffed.

“Who else is coming?” he asked, already figuring the answer to be Angelica, when a key turned in the front door, admitting a snow covered Jefferson, an umbrella, and a significantly less snow covered Eliza, beaming and resplendent in a dark blue knee-length coat, a cocktail dress, and pearls. 

“Alex!” She pulled him into a hug and did the same with Madison, also handing off a bottle of wine (classier than Alex’s, although less expensive than the one currently on the dining room table). Jefferson threw his wet umbrella into the hall closet, taking off his coat and shaking out his hair. 

“Why are you here?” Alex said quietly as Madison handed Jefferson a bowl and a platter and pointed him towards the table. Eliza leaned into him, making it very clear where she was comfortable and who she was comfortable with. 

“He invited me,” she said, nodding at Jefferson. “Angelica pushed me into it, though. He wants to get to know me, they both do, apparently.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

She gave him a pointed look as Madison called that dinner was ready. 

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

•••

Despite himself, Alex had a good time at Jefferson’s. If asked, he’d say it was because of Eliza; in her company there was no way to be annoyed at anyone, even someone as blatantly ostentatious as Thomas Jefferson. After a couple of glasses of wine they were all looser, more free with words and laughs. Drunk Jefferson was less showy, his sarcasm pointier but funnier at the same time, and he was way more handsy, not just with Madison, but with everyone (Alex had to kick his feet away from his legs more than once). Drunk Madison was louder, more susceptible to Jefferson’s hands-on drunkenness, and a definite guttermouth. Drunk Eliza was louder than Madison, overly confident, and convinced she could beat everyone in an arm-wrestling match. And drunk Alex lost an arm-wrestling match to Eliza.

Near the end of the night (the food was almost as good as the wine; Madison really knew his stuff), Alex found himself sprawled on a comfortable purple couch with Jefferson, closer than he’d ever been with the other man in his life, save for the one time he was punching him in the face.

“Why’d you invite us over?” he asked, doing his best not to slur. “Like, both of us. The two of us. Me and ‘Liza.”

Jefferson threw his (much longer) legs over Alex’s as they watched Eliza and Madison, laying on the rug and looking at all of Madison’s cats on _Neko Atsume_. 

“Had to have you over to, you know,” Jefferson said, definitely slurring, waving his hand around, “bury the hatchet, and I need to get on ‘Liza’s good side, you know, ‘cause of Angelica--”

“Hurt her and I cut your dick off,” Eliza said loudly from the floor.

Madison was face-first on the rug. “ _There are so many fucking cats…_ ”

Jefferson shrugged a shoulder. “Two birds with one… Whatever.”

“I get it,” Alex said, and then cocked his head. “Why are you tolerable right now? Like, I haven’t wanted to hit you once all night. I mean, there was that one time during dinner when you tried to recite poetry in French--”

Madison groaned loudly.

“--but other than that…”

“It’s the wine,” Jefferson replied like it was a scientific fact. “Wine is good.”

“So y’all are okay?” Madison asked, flipping over onto his back. “You don’t have to love each other or anything, just… No more hitting each other in nightclubs.”

Jefferson met Alex’s gaze. “I can do that.”

Alex thought about Reynolds, about Maria, about both of the finals he had to take the next day, about John, most likely asleep in the apartment below his feet at that very moment. His life was balancing on a tightrope. The last thing he needed was another factor that might make him slip and fall.

He held out his hand. Jefferson managed to grab it after a few tries.

They shook.

“No one’s going to get it,” he muttered as they fell back onto the couch. “When we act civil to each other, they’re going to be all like _whaaaaaaat?_ ”

“They had to be here to get it,” Jefferson replied, snickering. “They weren’t in the room where it happened. Sucks for them.”

Madison uncorked another bottle of wine, the one that Alex brought, and midnight turned into one, and then two, and then three in the morning as Alex laughed and drank and forgot.

•••

The clock on Jefferson’s wall struck four. Eliza was passed out on Jefferson’s bed in the room down the hall, Jefferson himself was practically on top of Madison, sprawled on the couch, and Alex had made himself comfortable on the white rug, lying on his back and using his arm as a pillow. His phone was next to his head, lit up and softly vibrating.

Before falling asleep, he’d drunkenly texted James Reynolds to get Maria’s number.

_Alex, this is Maria,_ she texted.

_James told me he met with you today._

_Listen, I’m sorry for how this whole thing is working out… It’s not my choice, you have to believe me._

_If you ever need anything, you know where to find me._

_He’s coming, I have to go._

_Delete my texts before you meet with him again. Please._

Alex tossed and turned on the white rug beside the soft glow of his phone, unable to sleep soundly, a montage of red lips and freckles and spinning skirts and dark eyes and _John_ and _Maria_ and _Theo_ and _Eliza_ and _Reynolds_ spinning madly on and on and on through his overworked and overwhelmed brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: The holidays!! (It's going to be cute. You're welcome.)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	23. Oh, Let Me Be A Part Of The Narrative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Schuylers, avoiding their parents, throw a holiday get-together.

“No, over, over,” Eliza instructed. “To the _left_ , Peg, not the right, don’t drop her!”

Peggy, with Angelica balanced on top of her shoulders, staggered two steps to the left. Angelica slapped her hands in the center of the arch in the ceiling a few steps inside their doorway, steadying herself and attaching a sprig of mistletoe. Eliza examined it, stepping to the side as her sisters collapsed backwards; Peggy making sure Angelica fell safely onto their L-shaped sofa before letting herself drop to the floor. It was dramatic, but Peggy was nothing if not dramatic.

“Looks good,” Eliza said, taking out her phone, taking a quick picture, and sending it to their parents. It was a week before Christmas, and the three Schuylers had made the executive decision to spend it on their own. They weren’t sure what was going to happen, all they knew was it was their first holiday in the apartment, and it was _theirs_. They’d see their parents and whatever other family members lingered in New York on the twenty-sixth, and that was that.

(That didn’t stop their father from sneaking in one day while they were out and setting up a huge Christmas tree that brushed the top of their eight-foot ceiling, wrapping garlands around their stairway bannisters, and hanging a wreath on the front door. He’d conveniently forgotten the mistletoe, but Angelica had insisted.)

Eliza threw her phone onto the fluffy white ottoman, collapsing on the couch beside Angelica. Peggy was still sprawled on the rug, her curly hair splayed around her face like octopus tendrils as she played on her phone. They stayed like that for a few quiet minutes, Angelica still taking deeper breaths from the exertion of hanging the mistletoe, her head nestled in the crook between Eliza’s chin and shoulder. 

“Is dad still pissed?” Angelica asked. Eliza shook her head, brushing her hair back with one hand so it wouldn’t tickle her neck.

“He does want to know what we’re planning on doing,” she replied. “He thinks sitting in our apartment eating raw cookie dough and watching _The Grinch_ on a loop isn’t good enough reason to miss Schuyler Family Christmas, his words, not mine.”

“So what you’re saying is…”

“We have to come up with something to do.” Eliza sat up and so did Angelica, kicking Peggy’s leg until she did, too. “And if we don’t, we have to hang out with our parents and grandma Cortlandt and aunt Geertruy and uncle Pieter--”

“Okay, okay, _please stop--_ ”

“Schuyler Family Christmas straight up sucks,” Peggy agreed. “If it was just us and mom and dad it would actually be fun, but all those people we only see once a year? Forget about it.”

“We could host something here,” Angelica said, drawing her legs up onto the sofa until she was sitting crosslegged. “Mom’s always getting on me about having people over here. _It’s such a nice place, it deserves to be shown off, not just you and Peggy playing_ Smashing Super Brothers _for hours on end_ \--”

“ _Smashing Super Brothers_ is the best game in that series,” Peggy said solemnly. Angelica cracked up.

“Okay, so what would that mean?” Eliza asked, sitting in the same way as Angelica. She made grabby hands towards the ottoman until Peggy threw her phone over, and she opened a new note. “Who would we invite?”

“Alex,” Peggy said quickly, “and that whole crew. Laf, John--”

“Hercules,” Angelica said, smirking. Peggy threw a pillow at her.

“No duh we’re inviting Herc,” she said. “He makes the best shots. John told me.”

“We’re not inviting boys over just so you can get Herc drunk--”

“It doesn’t have to be just them,” Eliza said. “James and Tom can come too, now that things are getting _serious_...” 

She dug an elbow into Angelica’s side, jumping back as her sister pushed her fingers into her ribcage. 

“Shut the fuck up, ‘liza, _I’m_ not the one who spent the other night at his apartment, so you have no room to talk about _me_ and _them_ and things getting _serious_ \--”

“I only went over there because Jefferson was _asking me for your hand_ \--”

“Oh, shut your mouth!”

Angelica kicked out at Eliza and she retaliated, flailing around on the sofa until Peggy flopped on top of them both, squeezing herself between them, ignoring all of Eliza’s halfhearted punches and jabs. 

“If Ang can invite her twenty-eight million boyfriends over for Christmas, I can have Herc,” Peggy said, scooting closer to Eliza. “You gotta give me that one.”

“Okay, okay,” Eliza said, typing a list of names, thumbs flying across her phone screen. “That’s six people, plus us. What are we going to do?” She jabbed Angelica in the shin with her foot. “ _Hostess._ ”

“I fucking suck at this,” Angelica said from the other end of the sofa. “You know that, Eliza. All that Pinterest shit. You’re better than me.”

“You’re a better cook,” Eliza shot back.

“I can cook _three things_ \--”

Peggy wiggled her hips, bumping into both of them in quick succession. “What about me?”

Eliza heard herself make the same exact noise as Angelica, and they both opened their mouths simultaneously.

“ _Absolutely not_.”

Peggy pouted. Angelica snickered.

“I got it,” Eliza said, picking up her phone again and opening up Facebook. “We know someone who’s got some experience with this homemaker stuff, and _no_ , it’s not Hercules Mulligan, Peggy, stop looking like you just won the lottery.”

Peggy pouted more, if that was possible.

Eliza’s phone pinged. “Okay, she wants us to meet at Libertea in ten minutes, and we’re all going. This is Schuyler Family Christmas two-point-oh, people, and it’s going to be _bomb!_ ”

•••

Theodosia steepled her fingers, looking Eliza right in the eye.

“Christmas?”

She was intimidating, Eliza had no doubt about that. From her deep maroon lipstick to her artfully coiled dreadlocks to her nose ring, Theodosia Bartow was the type of girl Eliza saved pictures of and tried to sit next to on the subway and stole glances of on the street, _not_ the type of girl she’d ask favors from. Luckily, she had the best backup she knew.

“Christmas,” Peggy said, planting her elbow on the table between her and Theodosia. “Arm wrestle me for it. If I win, you’re in.”

Theodosia brushed Peggy’s arm away, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “I’m in anyway. I need something to distract me, and, honestly, this seems ten kinds of distracting.”

“You and Aaron are more than welcome to come,” Eliza said. “We have a pretty big apartment, and the more the merrier.”

Theodosia pulled a yellow legal pad from her bag, took a Sharpie out from behind her ear, and wrote _CHRISTMAS_ in big sweeping letters across the top of the first page. After drawing a hyphen for the first bullet point, she rested her chin in her hands, looking from Eliza to Angelica to Peggy.

“I keep it on me to scribble down blog post ideas,” she said in explanation to the legal pad. “And the Sharpie was just lucky. Now, what do you have in mind for this party, or whatever it is?”

“Not a party,” Angelica said. Theodosia wrote _not a party_ beside the hyphen and made another one. “A get together. A classy, adult--”

“Put tequila on the list,” Peggy said from over Angelica’s shoulder. 

Eliza pushed both of her sisters away, focusing in on Theodosia. “We just want everyone to have a good time. It’s been a long year. I think we all need to let loose and--

Peggy threw her arms up. “Fuckin’ _rage!_ ”

Theodosia cackled and added _limes_ and _maraschino cherries_ next to the scribbled _tequila_. “I’m ready for this. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure Aaron comes, too. He usually orders Chinese and watches the old _Mad Max_ movies on Christmas. I’m sure this’ll be at least marginally more fun than that.”

“What could be more fun than that?” Angelica asked no one in particular, her tone deeply sarcastic. Theodosia grinned, and wrote _some sort of junk food_ onto the list, followed by _Twizzlers_ with a question mark. 

Eliza coerced a few drinks out of John; a mocha shitstorm for Peggy, hot tea for her, a coffee for Angelica, and some sort of iced drink for Theodosia, and the four girls sat huddled around the legal pad for another hour. They planned out dinner for the night before (pizza, but Eliza would tell her mom they were having a meal that Theodosia made up on the spot; _wine braised ham with shallots and carrots_ ), all of the alcohol they wanted to have on hand, and a bunch of different movies to choose from as the night wore on. The guest list was finalized after Peggy suggested inviting Sam Seabury, just to see what the Libertea employees would do, and Eliza quickly nixed that idea. All that was left were the invitations.

“I’m thinking a group text,” Angelica said, texting as she said it. Theodosia shook her head.

“You gotta go fancy,” she said, tapping the end of the Sharpie on her bottom lip. “White cardstock, gold script. I know a guy.”

“We should send them by tomorrow,” Eliza said. “This is going to be so much fun; they’ll get this fancy envelope and it’ll be a big surprise--”

“Yo, Laurens, what’re you doing for the holidays?” Peggy yelled across the shop, to where John and Alex were on some sort of break, sitting on the same chair and not doing much of anything. John glanced over, giving Alex a quick kiss on his jawline before answering her.

“You’re lookin’ at it, babe.”

“Want to spend it with us?” Peggy batted her eyelashes and Eliza smacked her shoulder.

“What the hell, Peg, I thought we were going to send invites?”

“That’s lame,” Peggy answered. “I mean, we can still make one or two, just to show mom we’re being serious about this whole fancy lie, but why not just tell all of these guys when they’re, I don’t know, _right here_?”

“What’s going on now?” John asked, sliding into a chair next to Theodosia. Alex took the one on her other side. He looked better, Eliza thought, than he had for the past few weeks. Showered, hair up, clothes that matched. She’d been worried, sick to her stomach worried. 

He caught her eye, raised an eyebrow. She made a big deal about pulling out her phone.

**Mr. Hamilton**

ES: It’s good to see you up and about, that’s all (kiss emoji)

AH: missed you too, betsey.

AH: peggy told me about your old nickname (wink emoji)

ES: I’ll let it slide, just this once!

Peggy filled in both Alex and John on the plan, and all three of the Schuylers cheered when they agreed to spend both Christmas Eve and the next day at their apartment. Alex’s plan had been to tag along to Herc’s family gathering, and John had been sent a plane ticket to South Carolina that he was promptly going to burn. According to him, his mother had sent it in secret, and if he showed up at his dad’s place, he’d get sent right back to New York, no ifs, ands, or buts.

Lafayette and Herc were more difficult. Peggy gave Herc an entire five-point presentation, outlining all the drinks he could create, and he only agreed when Angelica told him he could pick where they ordered pizza from. He was still leaving early Christmas morning, to spend most of the actual holiday with his family. Lafayette had been invited to the Washingtons’, and he agreed to the same arrangement as Herc; he’d leave in the morning on Christmas, splitting his holiday time between the Schuylers’ and the Washingtons’. 

John asked if they’d planned on doing presents, and that sparked another half-hour long argument. Alex and Herc wanted to pick names, Peggy and Theodosia wanted to do white elephant, and Angelica didn’t want to give gifts at all. In the end, Eliza proposed either homemade gifts or a five dollar limit, they took a vote, and she won. (She put a big emphasis on homemade because she’d seen the beanie Herc had knitted for Alex, and really wanted one.)

After they’d gotten all four of the boys to agree, they banished them from the table so the planning could continue. The four girls stayed at Libertea until closing time, picking movies and thinking of presents. It wasn’t until the end of the night, after Theodosia had ripped off four pages from her legal pad for Eliza to keep and left, that Angelica slapped the table a few times in quick succession, her wide eyes looking more excited than she had been all day.

“What’s up?” Peggy asked. Angelica laughed out loud, whipping out her phone and letting it read her thumbprint, grinning wildly.

“You know what we can do?” she asked. “Hold on, let me check my bank balance… Yep, it’s doable. Holiday overspending, but doable. Bring it in.”

Eliza leaned in and so did Peggy, the tops of their heads brushing Angelica’s as they breathed quietly, conspiratorially. Angelica told them her idea, speaking in the lowest tone possible so that the rest of the people in the shop couldn’t hear them. 

“Yes or yes?” she asked. Peggy’s grin matched hers.

“He’d _flip_.”

“I know.”

“I don’t have her phone number or anything,” Eliza said. “How are we going to pull this off?”

“We can’t trust any of them,” Angelica said, jerking her thumb at Libertea’s front counter, where Herc had John on his shoulders, drawing something new on the specials board while Alex shot spitballs at them from the pastry display. “But I might know someone who can help us.”

•••

“So,” Jefferson drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe, “what stroke of luck landed the Schuyler sisters, pride of New York City, on my doorstep? I’d think that--”

“Shut up,” Angelica said, pushing him aside and entering the apartment, and Eliza followed in her wake. Jefferson made an offended noise and closed the door after Peggy. Angelica made herself at home immediately, jumping up to sit on the kitchen counter after kicking her shoes to the side, and Eliza leaned beside her, intrinsically aware she was standing right where she and Alex had been a few nights before.

She was still wary of Jefferson, no matter how many jokes she made to Angelica about him. She knew her sister liked him, cared about him, and felt at ease around him, but that didn’t mean she had to, not yet at least. She wanted to, but his quick, slashing sense of humor and glittering lifestyle didn’t appeal to her. What _did_ was how he acted the night they’d eaten dinner together, the loose, flowing conversation and the affection he’d heaped on Madison without a care in the world as to who was watching. 

That was the Jefferson she liked. The only thing to do was to watch and wait and see which one was real.

And make sure her sister’s heart didn’t get broken in the process.

Peggy snatched a fun-sized Kit-Kat from the bowl on the counter and unwrapped it, snapping it in two and offering Eliza half as Jefferson strolled into the kitchen, his hair held back by a maroon headband, eyes showing genuine interest, smirk trying to convey otherwise. 

“What’s this all about?” he asked, dragging one finger through the air, circling the three of them. “Y’all tend to come after me one-on-one, not as a whole pack. What gives?”

“You know Adrienne de Noailles?” Angelica asked, and Eliza held back a grin at her sister’s sharp tone. Angelica wasn’t one for mind games, not when she was on a mission, and Jefferson’s taken aback expression showed he hadn’t found that out about the eldest Schuyler sister just yet. 

“Gil’s girlfriend?” he asked. She nodded. “I know her. Met her a few times before I came home.”

“Give me her number.”

“Okay,” Jefferson said, caving immediately, a lot quicker than Eliza thought that he would. “My phone’s charging, give me one second.”

He skirted the island, dodged Peggy, who’d stuck out one foot to try and trip him, and headed into what was presumably his bedroom, but not before looking back at Angelica. It was a gentle look, a tender look, the kind of look Eliza gave to Peggy whenever she’d throw up after a night out, or her parents when she caught them cuddled up late at night watching reruns of _The Gilmore Girls_ , or Alex these past few weeks every time he fell asleep on Libertea’s front counter. It was vulnerable, it was sweet, and Eliza, despite herself, melted.

“Shit,” she said quietly. 

“What?” Peggy asked. 

“Nothing.”

Someone that wasn’t Jefferson grunted loudly from the bedroom, like someone else had landed flat on top of them and knocked the wind out of their lungs; Jefferson laughed and the other person made another groaning noise.

“Get the fuck off of me, Thomas,” Madison said loudly and Jefferson laughed again and came back into the kitchen, phone and charger in hand, shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Angelica gave him a disappointed look.

“Was he _sleeping_?”

“Not anymore,” Madison replied, shuffling through the hallway in socks, a soft purple blanket draped around his shoulders like a cape. He leaned his elbows on the island beside Peggy, running both hands down his face. “I didn’t know we were hosting a Schuyler party.”

Angelica nudged his arm with her toe. “We’re having Christmas at our apartment. You’re invited.”

“Hold up,” Jefferson said, looking up from his phone, “I’m coming, too.”

“Nope.” Angelica popped the _p_. “Just James.”

“And Alex, and John, and Herc, and Lafayette…” Eliza ticked down on her fingers. Peggy cackled.

“And Theo, and Burr--”

“ _Burr?_ ”

Angelica gave him a fake pouting look. “Should have gotten on the guest list. Maybe next year.”

“Okay, Schuyler, you’re forgetting something,” Jefferson said, holding up his phone. “I have something you want, and you’re not getting Adri’s number until I hear the words _we’d love to have you at our apartment on Christmas Eve, Thomas Jefferson, you’re the best_ come out of your mouth.”

“I’m not saying that,” Angelica said, the upwards quirk of her mouth indicating that she was absolutely thrilled by the way this conversation was going. Eliza hadn’t seen her sister like this in a long time, fully connected, almost vibrating with the excitement of it. 

“I think the deal was pretty straightforward,” Madison said, taking the verbal ball away from Angelica and passing it back to Jefferson. “You want that number? Make room in your apartment, Ang.”

Jefferson cackled. “I’m about to revise that sentence, Schuyler, you have five, four, three…”

Angelica rolled her eyes. Anyone else would think she was about to scream, but Eliza knew better, saw the playful glint in her eyes, saw the upwards twitch of her lips, knew that she was closer to laughter than anger. She hopped off the counter and approached Jefferson, settling herself next to Madison by the island and looking up.

“We’d love to have you at our apartment on Christmas Eve, Thomas Jefferson,” she said, letting the words roll off her tongue slowly and tangibly, her burning gaze fixed firmly on his. “You’re the best.”

“Oh my God, just make out already,” Peggy yelled from where she was, which was halfway inside Jefferson’s refrigerator, half a sandwich in one hand and a bottle of lemonade in the other. Madison laughed and pushed Angelica’s shoulder.

“Stop it, you’re making Thomas all flustered,” he said. Angelica grinned.

“Give me your phone,” she ordered, holding out her hand. Jefferson glared goodnaturedly, dropping the phone onto her outstretched palm, already lit up with Adrienne’s number. 

“Why do you need Lafayette’s girlfriend’s number, anyway?” Madison asked, and then his eyes got huge. “You guys aren't bringing her here from France, are you? For Christmas?”

Angelica nodded, plugging the other girl’s number into Eliza's phone. “He’s going to freak out, right?”

“You might not be able to revive him,” Madison agreed, eyes still wide. “I mean, I don’t know him very well, but there’s no doubt that he loves her.”

“You need help paying for her ticket?” Jefferson asked, wallet already out and Visa already on the counter. “We can split it, or whatever. Or it’s on me. Whatever you want.”

Angelica picked up the card and flicked it back at his face, other hand giving Eliza her phone back. “Eliza hasn't even asked her if she wants to come, calm the fuck down. I’ll let you know if I want your money, Thomas, believe me.”

She shot off a quick text to the number Angelica had provided, hoping it was right. 

The five of them ended up moving into the living room, waiting for Adrienne to text back. Eliza filled in both Jefferson and Madison on the five dollar or handmade gift rule, as well as what time to show up on Christmas Eve. Madison and Peggy compared _Neko Atsume_ cats, and Eliza sat between Angelica and Jefferson, not even complaining when Angelica threw her legs over both of them.

•••

**Adrienne de Noailles**

ES: Hey Adrienne, this is Eliza Schuyler. I think we’ve met before but I’m not too sure. I live in New York and I know Lafayette pretty well, as well as Thomas Jefferson, whom I think you’ve met… At least, that’s what he says. Anyway, the point of this text is that my sisters and I are having a Christmas party at our apartment, and we’d love to fly you out as a surprise for Lafayette and a present for you both. You’re more than free to stay with us as long as you want to. Text me back asap if you’re free! -Eliza

AdN: oh my god!!!!!!!!!!

AdN: im in, im in!!

AdN: holy shit thank u,, tell me the dates and ill make sure i dont have to work!!

AdN: OH MY GOD

•••

It was five in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, and Eliza was covered in cream cheese.

She was making red and green pepper tortilla rollups with Theodosia and they were almost finished; bowls of hot and medium salsa were already on the dining room table, as well as platters of different cheeses, bowls of chips, seven layer dip, bottles of soda and beer in ice buckets, and a casserole dish of buffalo chicken dip was warming in the oven. 

Angelica was picking up Adrienne in Jefferson’s car; Madison was driving with her and Jefferson himself was currently laying on their couch, playing on his phone and doing absolutely nothing to help. Madison had banned him from the kitchen before leaving, but Eliza thought he’d at least carry a dish or two. She was wrong.

Peggy was at Herc’s apartment where she’d been for the past few hours; she and John were playing _Minecraft_ in Herc’s room while the other three cooked whatever they were bringing to the party. Eliza had told them not to bring anything, but Lafayette had insisted.

Burr was out getting the alcohol. It was the only party chore Theodosia trusted him with.

“Bitches!” Peggy burst through the door, a foil-wrapped plate in her hands and present-filled bags dangling from her arms. “It’s fuckin’ _Christmas!_ ”

“Christmas Eve, _ma chérie_ ,” Lafayette corrected, coming around her with his own arms full of foil and plates. John and Alex came after him, John had a plastic bag with a few presents in it, and Alex had an arm full of blankets. Herc brought up the rear, more plates in his arms and a backpack on his back that Eliza secretly hoped held a knitted beanie for her. Theodosia cleaned off a spot on the table and Lafayette arranged the plates, pulling off the foil and wadding it in his hands.

“Oh,” Eliza said, coming up behind him, “you did _not_.”

Lafayette, for there was no doubt in her mind that it was him and only him, had baked cookies. _Tons_ of them. Sugar cookies crusted with red and green granules, jam-filled thumbprints, cinnamon snickerdoodles, decorated shortbread. Every kind of Christmas cookie that Eliza could name was spread out on the table, it looked like the holidays, it looked like _home_ , and she couldn’t help but throw her arms around his waist, pulling him into a rather abrupt hug. 

He made a soft noise of surprise but hugged her back quickly, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Merry Christmas, ‘liza,” he said into her hair. “You’ve done good by us, _chérie_. You and your sisters are special. Thank you for everything.”

Someone knocked on the door, and almost immediately after Angelica’s head poked through a crack. She locked eyes with Eliza right away, and nodded when she saw Lafayette next to her.

“Um,” Eliza said, looking up at him, “We kind of got you something, too.”

“Yes?” he asked, confused, looking over at the door as she turned him towards it.

Angelica pushed the door open and stepped back into the hallway. Eliza saw a glimpse of Madison next to her before the room fell completely silent; she watched in slow motion as Lafayette realized what was going on, his eyes connecting to his brain to his shaking hands to his shocked eyebrows to his slack jaw.

Adrienne stepped into the Schuylers’ apartment, blue purse strap across her chest, rolling suitcase trailing behind her. Her long hair was tied into a messy bun and held back with a headband, she had no makeup on, and she was visibly beaming. Her eyes roved across the room, but once they landed on Lafayette, they were only for him.

“ _Mon cœur_ \--” was the only thing she got out before he vaulted across the room into her arms, sweeping her off of her feet, knocking her suitcase to the side and almost barreling into Madison as he swung her around the room, yelling muffled nonsense into her shoulder. She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lowered her into the most passionately heart-rendering kiss that Eliza had ever been witness to; a soulmate kiss, a kiss indescribable in any language ever spoken.

They stayed like that for only a heartbeat, breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together, but she had no doubt that to them, it felt like an eternity. 

Lafayette let out a huff of laughter as they embraced. “ _Mon amour pour toi est aussi grand que le monde, Adrienne_.”

He turned back and Eliza found that he was looking at her, tears sparkling in the corners of his dark eyes. “I can never repay you for this, Elizabeth Schuyler.”

“Hey, fuck that, I helped, too,” Jefferson said, coming off of the couch and effectively ruining the mood. Madison cackled from the doorway, Angelica said something from behind him, Herc pushed Lafayette out of the way to hug Adrienne himself, and in the middle of it all, Burr arrived with four bags full of alcohol in his hands. Lafayette cheered, Angelica cheered, and the twelve of them shed coats and grabbed cookies off of the table and blankets out of Alex’s pile and bottles and cans out of Burr’s bags and relocated to the living room in one big clump.

Angelica put on _The Grinch_ ; it had been her favorite Christmas movie ever since Eliza could remember (her personal favorite was still _Rudolph_ , and Peggy’s was _Jingle All The Way_ , the one with Arnold Schwarzenegger). She collapsed on the floor between Alex, who was sharing a blanket with John, and Herc, who was sharing a plate of cookies with Peggy, and took both some cookies and some blanket for herself. 

The night progressed and so did they; the food slowly disappeared (Herc ate most of the pizza, Theodosia’s buffalo dip was a huge hit, Eliza ate so many of Lafayette’s cookies that she had to change into a pair of leggings after midnight). They drank wine and talked and got to know each other. Burr and Adrienne passed a Bop-It that Peggy found under her bed back and forth for a few very intense minutes. Burr won, moved on to Madison, and beat him, too.

Eliza was in the middle of watching a third game, Burr versus Alex, when Angelica started handing out presents. Only a few people had actually gone to the trouble of buying and wrapping presents, but it still took about a half hour for the flurry of wrapping paper to settle down enough to see what everyone had gotten.

Eliza had bought pajama pants; different sizes and colors and patterns for every single one of her friends, including herself. Jefferson’s were purple with yellow stars, Lafayette’s were striped red white and blue, Theodosia’s were deep maroon with silver tassels, John’s were light blue with clouds. 

And she’d gotten a knit beanie from Herc; a gorgeous shade of sky blue with a white pom-pom sewn onto the top. She immediately put it on, along with her pair of blue pajama pants and the scarf Adrienne had brought her from France. Herc, it seemed, had knitted everyone a little something, including a headband he’d done in fifteen minutes for Adrienne. Madison had on a yellow beanie, Alex was wearing a green headband, and Burr had a pair of bright orange socks.

Theodosia had bought a bunch of dollar store mugs, drawn on them with Sharpie, and filled them with candy. Eliza’s was covered in flowers, tulips and daisies and rosebuds, and stuffed to the brim with caramel Hershey’s kisses. Burr’s gift was movie tickets to the drive-in theater outside of the city. Alex had made them all mix CDs, and she made a mental note to ask him what he’d put on Jefferson’s.

Jefferson himself had gone overboard, which was to be expected, and gotten everyone gift cards. Eliza’s was fifty dollars to Yankee Candle, which she almost resented, until she looked around her apartment and saw all of her candles. _Fair enough._

The large, heavy bag of gifts was Madison’s, and they turned out to be thrifted books, hand picked for each person with a note written on a Post-It stuck on the inside cover. He handed Eliza a gilded copy of _Frankenstein_ , and she flipped open the dust jacket.

_Eliza, I know you probably have already read this one, but this edition was too beautiful to pass up, and why mess with a classic? If you haven’t read it, please do, and tell me what you think. Merry Christmas, J. Madison._

John had gotten _Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy_ , Peggy’s was a collection of Robert Frost’s poems, Angelica had been given the first three books in Rick Riordan’s _Percy Jackson_ series (which Eliza had been trying to get her to read for years), and Jefferson immediately threw the Parisian cookbook he’d unwrapped right at Madison’s head.

Peggy hadn’t gotten any presents, so she went around the room and kissed everyone on the forehead, reapplying her lipstick every time. Angelica tried to push her away and got two, right beside each other. Angelica herself also hadn’t gotten any presents, but retreated into her room and brought out every pillow and blanket she owned, dumping them right in front of the fireplace in an invitation to go nuts. Eliza grabbed her favorite one, a soft coral blanket with long tassels, and made herself comfortable on the couch between Angelica and Burr.

The last group of presents came from John, who pulled out a manila folder stuffed with scraps of paper. He rushed around the room, handing them out, keeping his eyes averted until he scooted back into his seat between Alex and Madison. 

“Fuck,” Angelica breathed. Eliza leaned over to look at her paper.

It was a pencil sketch of _her_ , of Angelica, and it was gorgeous. Bluebell flowers bordered the portrait, which was a candid of her, captured in a moment that Eliza couldn’t even remember happening, her nose scrunched and eyes squeezed shut in a silent laugh, earrings glinting and hair slightly undone. It was her sister trapped by pencil and paper, and it took Eliza’s breath away.

Silently, almost reverently, they passed their drawings around. They were all portraits; a perfect Jefferson smirking off into the distance, Madison leaning on his hand, contemplating, Lafayette with his cat Georges on his shoulder, Theodosia, chin tilted, defiant, eyes scraping the sky.

A tired, rumpled Alex, smiling directly at whoever held the drawing, looking soft and vulnerable.

This was how John saw all of them, this was a small piece of his heart. He had hidden himself under a blanket as Herc pushed him with his feet and Alex crawled under it with him, and Eliza found her eyes getting misty as she unfolded her drawing. 

She remembered the moment right away.

It had been a month or two prior, before the final verdict that defined Libertea’s fate, before Burr and Theodosia had gotten engaged, and she’d arranged a bouquet for Burr. John had remembered that exact second, when her hands had been full of sunflowers, when her hair had been held back by sprigs of alstroemeria, when she had laughed at something Herc or Alex or John himself had said.

Her drawn eyelashes curled up against her cheeks, her pencil-stroke fingers deftly clutching the half made bouquet, her artistically rendered hair falling down the nape of her neck with waterfall like accuracy. She resisted the urge to touch it. It was beautiful.

_She_ was beautiful. John’s heart, the part of him that enabled him to see people this way, was beautiful. 

“Shit,” she muttered, sniffling and swiping at tears with the heel of her hand. Angelica snatched her drawing and replaced it with one of Peggy, head thrown back, laughing wildly at something unknown. 

She stood, maneuvering her way through the piles of people and wrapping paper on the floor, until she was able to kneel down and crawl under John’s blanket. Alex was still there, too, and the three of them shifted until they were in a pile together.

“I love it,” she said quietly, in the muted almost-darkness. “My drawing, I mean. Thank you.”

“He’s a master,” Alex said proudly, but seemed to hesitate before pecking John on the cheek, who didn’t notice the hesitation, but blushed. 

“It was nothing.”

“Fuck that,” Alex said.

“I agree,” Eliza said. “ _Thank you_ , John. It’s lovely. All of them are lovely.”

“Will you come out now?” Alex asked. “It’s getting stuffy under here.”

John huffed out a laugh and threw the blanket off of the three of them, and they were soon joined on the floor by Herc, who squeezed himself between Alex and Eliza, and Peggy, who maneuvered herself until she was beside Herc. 

Adrienne and Lafayette picked another movie, they all had a round of shots and another round of cookies, and Jefferson and Herc retreated behind the island with Burr’s two remaining bags of alcohol and created an impromptu bar, tossing bottles back and forth with the artistic flair of the slightly drunk. 

Madison seemed fine with Jefferson being in the kitchen as long as he was around alcohol and not food, and before long they all were past tipsy giggling and into full-on drunken laughter. Peggy and Herc had disappeared, and as the night wore on, Burr and Theodosia left too, and so did Lafayette and Adrienne, tangled in each other’s arms. 

Eliza didn’t even know what time it was by the time she collapsed into a recliner in the living room; she just knew it was late, and that it was Christmas. Alex and John were passed out on the floor in front of the smoldering fireplace, Alex’s legs twined with John’s, a shared blanket flung over the two of them. Angelica was on the sofa, sandwiched between Madison and Jefferson. Madison’s head nestled on her shoulder, Jefferson’s head pillowed on her lap, and her own head thrown back, mouth open, fast asleep, peaceful and exhausted. 

She could hear popping and crackling from the fireplace, soft whirring from the refrigerator, and quiet conversation floating from Peggy’s room down the hall. The room was warm and tranquil, smelled like Christmas cookies and whiskey, and was filled with people Eliza loved. She nestled further into the chair and her blanket, curling her legs up underneath her and yawning. 

She had a family, she _loved_ her family, but there was something special about a group of people coming together on their own, people that would have never even associated with each other normally, that made her heart ache with happiness. 

Alex shifted on the floor, and the last thing she saw before her eyes drifted shut was him, gently pressing his lips on the ridge of John’s left eyebrow, a single tear trailing down his cheek, glistening in the fireplace’s muted glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Alex avoids things and does what he (thinks he) has to.
> 
> Remember, headcanon casting for Adri de Noailles is Anais Mali!
> 
> And one more thing, a shoutout: happy birthday to beautiful human and loyal reader Jay, aka buckyskhaleesi on Tumblr!! Thanks for your messages and general loveliness, I hope your birthday was awesome ♥
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


	24. And No One Shall Make Them Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Libertwo opens its doors and Alex says things he shouldn't.

“So this is what you do, then.”

Alex lifted his glass, swirling the remnants of his rum and Coke at the bottom. It was a Tuesday night, the week after Christmas, and he’d come to Connexion de Amour on a mission. The mission, as it were, had been derailed by Maria; Maria in her tight bartender uniform and Maria with her deft fingers, crafting him drinks, and Maria, being Maria.

He was three drinks in, and James Reynolds’ face, which burned so bright in his mind every time he thought about his weekly hundred dollar fee, was quickly being replaced by Maria’s. Reynolds wasn’t there, she was, and heavens knew Alex was all about accessibility these past few weeks.

He continued to swirl the glass as the words swirled in his mind.

“You just… Sucker guys. Get ‘em to, I don’t know, kiss and pay. Right?”

Maria leaned on her elbows. The place was subdued; not a lot of people went clubbing on snowy Tuesdays, and the most crowded place were the upstairs tables. She looked sad, Alex observed, for lack of a better word. There were dark half-circles under her eyes, like a half-erased drawing, and her lip was split in two parts like she’d bitten the skin until it broke. 

“I don’t have anything to do with it,” she said. “Not like you’ll believe me.”

“Tell me, then,” Alex said. “If you’re so innocent. What’s it like? Living with Reynolds? Where does all that money go, _my money_ , if not to you and him?”

“I can’t tell you any of that.”

“ _Why_? What’s the point of all the god damn secrecy, Maria?”

“If you don’t have to tell your boyfriend about you and me, I don’t have to tell you about James and I. It’s as simple as that.” She poured him another drink. “I’m not the one in debt here, Alex.”

“But you’re in love,” he said, squinting through the bottom of his glass. “With Reynolds. Right? Is that it? Some Bonnie and Clyde shit, steal from the poor to give to yourselves?”

“You don’t know me.”

“You’re right.” Alex downed the rest of his drink. “I’m just trapped by your boyfriend. You and me both. _Trapped._ ”

“I guess we are,” Maria said as she moved away to grab another bottle from the back of the bar, serving him the most vicious glare he’d ever seen on another person’s face before she turned. “But one of us got to choose.”

•••

Alex walked home, scuffing the heels of his sneakers on the powdery sidewalk as he trudged up the street. It was cold. Usually he hated the cold. Being born and raised in the West Indies had made him more than adverse to the idea snow and ice and slush melting in the gutters, but that night he embraced it. The wind whipping under his nose and across his exposed forehead reminded him where he was, what he’d sacrificed to get there. New York City was _his_ , his life was _his_ , and he’d be damned if he let James Reynolds or Maria Lewis ruin that.

•••

That snowy night was the last time he met with Maria. He’d only kissed her one other time, two days after the holidays, in a desperate move that he’d regretted even more than the first time. He still continued to give Reynolds his hundred dollars a week, insisting that he see him in the flesh every time he made the handoff, _him_ , and not Maria.

“Lovesick?” Reynolds had asked, smirking, the day Alex made his demands.

“None of your business.”

“Oh, Alex.” Reynolds patted him on the head twice before snatching the rolled up twenties. “Everything’s my business.”

After that, Alex did his best to put all thoughts of Maria and her boyfriend out of his mind, even as he was physically handing over money to pay for their silence. He threw himself back into school as classes slowly started up again, was at work on time every time he was on the schedule, and showered John with affection whenever he got the chance. His roommates, if they noticed, didn’t mention his change of attitude, or just chalked it up to post-finals stress relief. Alex didn’t care. He was taking his life back.

It was Sunday, which usually meant relaxation. Herc would make some tea and John would whip up some of the cold brew he’d been experimenting with, while Lafayette tried a new fruit turnover recipe (his latest had been blackberry peach, and Alex swore by them), but that wasn’t the case on that Sunday. In a few hours they were scheduled to meet Washington and anyone else that could make it at Libertwo for one final day of touchups. 

Opening day was Monday, and Alex was just excited to have the original shop to himself again. It was crowded, with Lafayette and Madison running the kitchen and both Burr and Jefferson behind the counter with him, John, and sometimes Herc. Lafayette had banned Jefferson from the kitchen, claiming he was one, a distraction to Madison, and two, a liability after he’d set a dishtowel on fire trying to get a pan of cookies out of the stove.

Life at Libertea had been just as hectic as the shitshow going on in Alex’s mind, and he was ready for both of them to calm down.

“Alex,” Lafayette called from the kitchen. “Help me with this a second, _ami_.”

He swung his legs over John’s; they’d both been tangled on the couch, playing on their respective phones and sometimes reading funny things out loud to each other, and headed over to Lafayette. He handed him a bowl to mix while he took a batch of pastries out of the oven, ducking and weaving behind him to get to the refrigerator while Alex consistently mixed what looked like whipped cream back and forth, letting it plop off of his spoon before scooping more over it.

John made his way into the kitchen as well, nose still stuck to his phone screen, and hopped up onto the counter. Alex leaned between his legs as he continually stirred the cream, pausing only to let John taste some off of the spoon.

“I saw that,” Lafayette said from beside the stove. “Don’t be gross.”

“You’re gross,” John shot back as Adrienne came through the front door, bags of groceries on her arms and Herc behind her with a 24-pack of water and a few cases of Bud Light. She had decided to stay in America for a few weeks; sharing Lafayette’s room and even helping Washington with Libertwo. A few days prior, she’d painted the back wall with Herc and Peggy, and John was supposedly going to paint the logo as well whenever he got the chance.

Herc and Peggy had something going on, as well, no matter how often they denied it. She came by Libertea when he was on his lunch break, he hung out at the Schuyler’s place, she came by Libertwo whenever he was there, painting or hauling furniture or refitting the counter, and did her best to help. 

“Are you guys coming with us?” Herc asked as Adrienne passed him groceries and he filled up the fridge. “We’re heading over to Libertwo in like twenty minutes; I heard the Schuylers might be coming to help, too.”

“I’m coming,” Alex said, glancing over at John, who nodded. “What are we doing today? I heard you and Peggy finished up the painting on Friday.”

“Yep,” Herc said, accepting a bottle of ketchup from Adrienne and sliding it next to a gallon of milk. “John’s doing the logo on the back wall, and Washington’s swinging by with all the little stuff; the decorations and flags and aprons and all that.”

“Nice,” Alex said, and Lafayette passed out bite-sized pastry pieces, and for a few minutes the five of them stood in silence, the quiet only broken by hums of contentment and John, trying to steal more food from Lafayette, who kept smacking his hands away. 

Herc clapped twice. “Okay, regroup in fifteen minutes and we can all split a cab over to Libertwo, ‘cause it’s cold as shit outside. In four, three, two--”

“I should text Madison,” Alex commented off-handedly, taking his phone out of his pocket. “He printed out the homework schedule for Warren’s class this semester and I want to steal it.”

“Oh, man,” Herc said, pointing at Alex from across the room, “if you go up there, grab my other set of nice paintbrushes.”

“ _My_ other set of nice paintbrushes,” John grumbled through his mouthful of pastry.

“Okay,” Alex said, thumbs flying over his touchscreen.

**J. Madz**

AH: hey man, do you have the homework schedule??

AH: and herc wants his paintbrushes back

JM: yooooooo ay dot ham

AH: give madison his phone

JM: this is madison...what r u talking abt

AH: jefferson i swear to god

JM: fine. jemmys in the shower but he left ur shit on the counter

JM: come up and get it if u want

AH: thanks

“I’m going up to Jefferson’s to grab the stuff,” he said quickly to John, pulling on his shoes and grabbing a coat from the hall closet. “I’ll meet you guys in the lobby in like ten minutes, okay?”

John jumped down from the counter, leaning over the island to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“If Jefferson has any candy grab me some,” he called after Alex as he swiped a key off of the rack by the door and headed up one floor to Jefferson’s apartment. The hallway was deserted, but before he even reached the familiar purple door, he heard music and felt thumping bass reverberating through the floorboards. 

It was coming from Jefferson’s, of course. He knocked. No answer.

He tried the door; it was unlocked, so he pushed it open and peeked his head inside. The first thing he saw was Angelica, broom in hand, dramatically pushing dirt around on the wooden floor as Britney Spears’ _“Work Bitch”_ blasted in the background. Her damp hair was tied out of her face as she danced around with the broom, sliding across the floorboards in mismatching socks, one blue and red striped, one purple. 

Jefferson was there, too, wearing nothing but a headband and basketball shorts, cleaning the tall windows with a bottle of spray and a roll of paper towels. They were both singing along with Britney, although it was almost impossible to hear over how loud the music was. Alex knocked again, more aggressively, on the opposite side of the door.

Angelica looked up, not surprised to see him in the least, and pointed her broom right at his face.

“ _NOW GET TO WORK, BITCH!_ ”

Alex laughed, grabbing the copy of the schedule and the bag of paintbrushes off of the counter (along with a few Kit Kats for John), saluting to both Angelica and Jefferson, who was grinning over his shoulder, before leaving the apartment and closing the door behind him.

Britney Spears slowly faded behind him as he took the stairs all the way to the first floor, joining the group already congregated there as they walked out through the main double doors into the jarring winter afternoon. John took his hand as Adrienne fell in on his other side, taking his schedule and looking it over as Lafayette hailed a cab.

They all managed to pile in; Herc took the front seat and John sat halfway on Alex’s lap and halfway on Lafayette’s, with Adrienne squashed to the farthest side of the long seat. The drive to Libertwo wasn’t long, they walked it, usually, but it was way too cold to walk. 

As soon as the cab pulled up to the shop, everyone got out except for Alex. They all took turns paying the fare when they all rode together, and it was his turn. He tried his best not to betray how much it hurt, pulling out a ten dollar bill and telling the driver to keep the change, when his mind automatically subtracted it from the rest of the money in his wallet and bank account, leaving him ten dollars poorer and poor all around, in general.

He did a quick inventory of his wallet. Another ten, a five, a few quarters, more pennies than anything. A debit card (not much help; his student loans had come out a few days ago and had pretty much cleaned him out), and a fifteen dollar check from Mrs. Ross, a Christmas present that he had yet to cash. Payday was on Friday, but even that came with the responsibility of paying Reynolds, and rent was due next Tuesday.

His head started to pound and the cab driver was staring at him, so he just muttered his thanks and got out of the car. John gave him a questioning look that he resolutely ignored, and they followed Herc inside after he unlocked the front door.

Adrienne took John’s phone and plugged it into the speakers on the counter, blasting his _Best of the 80s_ playlist as they broke into smaller groups to start working. John tied his hair out of his eyes and hopped up to stand on the back counter, one paintbrush in his hand, another behind his ear, and three more in his back pocket, a container of black paint next to his feet. Adrienne helped Lafayette carry his bags of pastries and muffins back into the kitchen as Alex grabbed a broom and Herc pulled a mop from the back, following Alex with a trail of water after he swept all of the grime off of the floor.

“I can’t believe opening day is tomorrow,” Herc commented offhandedly as he mopped. “Remember when we thought Libertea was going to get shut down?”

“Remember when I thought I had to quit?” John called from the counter over whatever Prince song was playing. “That was fucked up.”

“Has anyone seen Sam Seabury since then?” Alex asked, sweeping a pile of dirt into a bigger pile. “I miss him every once in awhile. Asking for his venti whatever the heck he used to get.”

John laughed, swiping a glob of paint onto the wall. “He probably went back to Starbucks, tail between his legs.”

“If you really want to know,” Washington said, pushing open the front door with his foot and entering the shop, plastic bags hanging from his arms and more stuff piled into a box he was nudging along with the tip of his leather shoe, “George King moved his business to England last month, and Seabury went with him.”

“Good riddance,” John said. Washington chuckled.

“That’s what I said.”

“George, move in,” Martha said from behind her husband, pushing him in the back with the box in her arms when he was too slow. They both piled their boxes and bags in the farthest corner of Libertwo, and Herc finished mopping as Alex dumped his dirt pile into the trash and went over to help the Washingtons unpack.

He threw the big flag, similar to the one hanging across the back counter of Libertea, the name _B. Ross_ stitched across the bottom in black thread, to Herc. He caught it and grabbed a hammer and some nails, moving to hang it on the wall above the entrance. 

Everything in Libertwo was very similar to Libertea, with some subtle changes. Alex and Jefferson had walked through with Washington a few nights prior, right after he’d met with Reynolds, and made agreements. As per Alex, the logo stayed the same, Washington would pay Mrs. Ross to sew another flag, and the aprons, cups, and a few shelves of handmade mugs would be brought over from Libertea. 

Jefferson’s side of the agreement was that he’d be able to pick the playlist for Libertwo (a task that Herc and John had shared for Libertea), he was allowed to put some of his own decorations into the store (there were already black letters spelling “COFFEE” across the back wall), and he didn’t have to wear his hairnet while he was working. Washington nixed the last one, but the other two they’d shook hands on.

“So, George,” John called over his shoulder as he swiped paint along the penciled design, “you psyched for opening tomorrow?”

“I’m always psyched, Mr. Laurens,” Washington replied, accepting a container of tea from Martha and sliding it onto the shelf beside a few others. John laughed as he painted.

“I wish I’d been around for Libertea’s opening,” he continued. “I bet Laf lost his mind. What was it like?”

“Busy,” Washington said. “I’m sure we’ll be fine tomorrow; I’ll be here and so will Martha, and you’ve all trained the new staff very well, but I want all of you on standby at Libertea just in case we need an extra set of hands.”

“We’ll be fine,” Martha said, taking her husband’s chin in one hand and planting a quick kiss on his jawbone. “We did it once, and with only Hercules and the marquis to help us.”

“Yeah, and now you’ve got _Jefferson_ ,” Alex commented. “What an upgrade.”

“Shut up, Hamilton!” Herc yelled from across the shop.

Washington laughed and held out his hand to his wife. “Another opening. The Washingtons do it again.”

She took his hand, grinning almost as widely as he was. “One last time.”

With the extra help from Martha and George, they finished setting up the shop in record time. Peggy and Eliza came by during the end; Eliza grabbed a paintbrush and helped John fill in the rest of the logo, and Peggy sat crosslegged on the floor next to Herc and wrote labels on tea canisters as he finished sorting all of the different kinds. 

Washington ordered a few pizzas and they all ate together, forgoing all of the stools and chairs they’d set up and joining Herc and Peggy on the floor. Alex sat back-to-back with John, nestling his head into his boyfriend’s curls, feeling his shoulders move every time he leaned forward to take another bite of pizza. The shop was warm and brightly lit; it didn’t feel quite as homey as the original Libertea, but they’d done a good job.

He could make this work, this life with John. Sneaking around to pay Reynolds wasn’t ideal, but it was a small price to pay for quiet and happiness. 

He wasn’t quite there yet, he was still anxious and angry, masking what he really felt in front of his friends, but he figured he’d get to happiness eventually. He had Lafayette and Herc and the Schuylers, he had Burr and Theo and even Madison and Jefferson. He had the Washingtons. He had John.

Reynolds could take his money, sure. Maria could take his self-control.

He wasn’t letting them take his friends, too.

•••

“Alexander, _mon ami_ , heads up!”

Alex swiveled, catching the warm tray Lafayette slid him through the kitchen’s delivery window. They were getting hourly text updates from Mrs. Washington; Libertwo was busy, but not too busy that the current staff couldn’t handle it. Madison had sent Lafayette three Snapchats so far, one of Burr with his forehead on the buttons of the register, one of Jefferson cleaning up a massive spill behind the counter, and one of a particularly good looking batch of scones. 

Libertea was slower than usual, as most of their regulars had gone to support Washington at Libertwo’s opening. Mrs. Ross had stopped in early in the morning for a large cup of tea and had handed out jars of homemade preserves; John’s and Herc’s were blueberry, Alex got strawberry, and Lafayette’s was apple. He promised to bake bread that night so they had something to eat it with.

The only people currently in the shop were Syb Ludington, throwing pieces of chocolate loaf at Paul Revere at a corner table, and a few men in suits, waiting in line for John to finish with their coffees. Alex swiped the last of their credit cards and went to go sit on the mini-fridge, watching John all the while.

He moved like he was aware of every muscle in his body, dipping his elbow lower to pour cream, standing on his toes to nudge the sugar scoop closer to his reach with the tips of his fingers. Alex could have sat there all day, watching John make half-turns to grab another hot cup, another lid, another stirrer. His long fingers danced over the register’s keypad, punching in an order that Alex had forgot, barely looking as he picked out pennies and nickels and dropped them into the customer’s hand with practiced precision. 

As the businessmen left, doorbell jangling in their wake, he turned back to Alex, eyes sparkling like they were sharing a joke.

“What’re you looking at?”

Alex shrugged one shoulder. “You.”

Huffing out an unsurprised laugh, John pulled him closer, pressing his face into the crook of Alex’s neck, kissing there, and below his ear, and along his jawbone until he finally pressed his lips to Alex’s. 

“You know,” John said between kisses, “what I like about you?”

“I--”

“I like that you’re here,” John continued, breaking Alex off with another kiss, and another, and another. “With me. That we work together--” Another. “And live together.” Another.

“I like that I can make you coffee in the morning.” Another.

“I like that you fold my laundry even though I ask you not to.” Another.

“I like that you’ve never watched _Parks And Rec_ before so I can experience it with you.”

Another, and another, and--

“John _fucking_ Laurens,” Herc yelled from across the shop. “Get your damn hands off Hamilton and work for once in your life!”

“Nah, keep going,” Syb called from her and Paul’s table. “Me and Revere have a bet going on who loses what article of clothing first and I wanna win.”

“John’s shirt,” Paul said. Syb rolled her eyes.

“Hamilton’s pants.”

Herc laughed, a loud noise that pretty much snapped John out of it, and they spent the rest of the day entertaining Syb and Paul, who were out of biking jobs until it got warmer outside, and stealing kisses behind Herc’s back. He caught them once, and shoved a handful of old coffee beans down the back of John’s shirt.

The four of them swung by Libertwo after they closed up shop; Alex tried Madison’s scones (they weren’t as good as Lafayette’s, but his cherry and white chocolate cookies were out of this world), he joined John and Herc in making fun of Jefferson for dropping an entire tray of drinks on his first day, and he took a picture of Burr and Theo, standing with their arms wrapped around each other in front of the Libertea logo on the back wall. 

After the Washingtons left, Jefferson invited them all back to his apartment for what he called _a raging afterparty_ , but after a day of work, it was the last thing Alex wanted to do. John seemed to pick up on his unenthusiastic view on that option, and declined for them both. 

Both of their other roommates were more than ready, though, and John and Alex waved goodbye to them as they piled into a cab with Jefferson, Madison, Burr, and Theo. Alex locked up Libertwo as John shuffled back and forth in the slush, trying to keep warm. They decided to walk home, and their breath clouded together in the frigid January air as they made their way back to the apartment.

Despite how cold it was, Alex still held John’s hand as they walked. 

They got home around seven; the sun was already down and their apartment was dimly lit by a lamp in the corner someone had forgotten to shut off before they left for work. John led the way deeper into the apartment, still holding firmly onto Alex’s hand.

“What do you want for dinner? We could order some--” The words caught in Alex’s throat as John pressed his lips to his, running his hands through Alex’s untied hair and dropping his coat to the ground. John’s teeth grazed his bottom lip and he gasped.

“Fuck, John, _ow!_ ”

“Sorry,” he breathed, pushing his hands into Alex’s coat, unbuttoning it and throwing it somewhere. Alex couldn’t see anything but the fire in John’s eyes, his flaring nostrils, his night sky’s worth of freckles. “You okay?”

In reply, Alex grabbed the bottom hem of John’s shirt, moving it upwards and tugging it over his head. John kissed him again and pulled off his shirt, only breaking contact to gently drag it past his ears and nose. 

John’s hands trailed over his bare chest as they stood in their apartment’s kitchen, pressed together in more ways than one; Alex’s hands tangled in John’s hair, John’s hipbones digging into his pelvis, their feet bumping as they moved and shifted into more comfortable positions.

They stumbled backwards, through the kitchen and down the hallway until they fell, still twined together, onto John’s bed. Alex pushed blankets and pillows to the side as John straddled him, kissing his lips and cheek and down his neck, sucking on skin and occasionally biting down harder than necessary. 

He grabbed John’s face, moving him back to his lips, and held him there, John’s hands planted on the bed above his shoulders, leaning down as they kissed. 

Fumbling with his own belt buckle, John sat up for a second, tearing off his belt and throwing it across the room. It hit a lamp, the lamp fell over, and so did John, landing on Alex as he laughed. Alex cracked up, too, and kicked at John until he rolled off of him, giving him enough room to take his own belt off and wriggle out of his jeans. 

He threw a silent _thank you_ upwards that he’d managed to put on his nice boxers that morning; the new blue ones that he’d never worn before. John was digging through his dresser drawer in nothing but red socks and _Star Wars_ boxers; Alex could see Darth Vader’s face from where he was lying.

“Hell yeah, I knew I had some in here somewhere,” he said, and flung an entire box of condoms towards Alex. It hit the headboard and exploded, sending colorful packets everywhere while John rolled back onto the bed and on top of Alex. 

They kissed, John’s tongue trailing down Alex’s neck and across his bare chest, pressing his lips from indent to indent as he tugged on the elastic of his boxers. Alex leaned back and arched his hips as John laughed, sending huffs of warm air across his skin.

“Yes?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Alex replied, and, in that moment, forgot everything but John.

•••

John nuzzled his head further into the crook of Alex’s neck as they cuddled on the couch together, an episode of _Parks And Rec_ on the TV and the remnants of General Tso’s and crunchy noodles on the coffee table. Their roommates still weren’t home, and they were taking full advantage of that.

“You taste good,” John muttered, pressing his lips to Alex’s quickly and chastely.

“I taste like General Tso,” Alex replied, grinning when John laughed and moved closer, which, by that time, should have been an impossibility. 

John yawned, stretching his hand up and out as he made a noise, somewhere between a shriek and a groan. He snuggled back down on Alex’s still bare chest, moving his curls so his ear and cheek were on warm skin.

He looked up at Alex, his deep brown eyes tired and soft. “I love you.”

The words curled around Alex’s mind, warm at first, but then turning hard, barbed and malicious, as he remembered what he did, who he was. He swallowed past the lump in his throat as John’s feet nudged his own.

“I mean it,” John continued. “I love you. I didn’t know how to say it or when to say it or if I deserved to say it, but I do. Love you, I mean. More than anything. My dad said--”

He shook his head, curls brushing the underside of Alex’s chin, and sniffled once.

“What I’m trying to say is, you’re a good thing that happened to me in a sea of kinda shitty things, and I can’t believe you stayed this long.” He leaned up to kiss the bottom of Alex’s jawbone, his lips brushing lightly over the skin. “I don’t care if you can’t say it back, but I wanted you to know. You’re my favorite person alive, Alex Hamilton, and I love the shit out of you.”

Alex let his cheek fall on the top of John’s head, pressing his eyes shut against the tears that prickled at the corners of his lashes. He couldn’t say it. He didn’t deserve to say it. Maria Lewis dictated that he couldn’t say it, James Reynolds had a vice grip around his throat so he couldn’t say it, if he was a decent person he _wouldn’t_ say it.

He took a deep breath in, hoping that John hadn’t noticed how his chest shuddered.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: They know.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com! The hashtag on all social media is #SOLTEA, and yes, I do track it!
> 
> -Gab


	25. 'Virtue' Is Not A Word I'd Apply To This Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last person Alex wants to see comes into the shop, and the last thing Alex wants to happen, happens.

“Every first of the month, John. The first of the month. It’s been _two weeks_.”

Alex couldn’t see Lafayette, just around the corner in the kitchen, but he could picture him clear as day. Georges curled around his ankle, arms crossed, glaring. Lafayette had been doing a lot of glaring recently. 

John, also unseen, scoffed. “Come on, Laf, give him a break. I got it, okay?”

“ _J'en ai marre_ , Laurens, this shouldn’t be your problem!”

“But it is, I’m _making_ it my problem. I’ll have it to you by the end of the day; I just gotta get to an ATM. What is it, one fifty?”

“I’m not accepting--”

“G’morning,” Alex said, shuffling into the kitchen and rubbing his eyes like he’d just woken up and hadn’t been eavesdropping. The scene was exactly how he pictured it; Lafayette standing defensively over Georges, John sitting on the counter with a bowl of cereal in one hand and a spoon in the other. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Lafayette said right as John blew a raspberry.

“Laf’s pissed ‘cause you’re not paying rent.”

Alex raised both eyebrows towards Lafayette, who was looking up at the ceiling like he was about to ascend through the sheer power of how annoyed he was. “I _told_ you I was sorry. I’ll get it to you as soon as I can.”

“That was weeks ago.”

“I’ve just been a little strapped, okay, I’ll get you the money!”

Lafayette finally looked at him, one eyebrow quirked, eyes dark. “We work the same job, _ami_. I’m not one to tell you how to save your money--”

“Then don’t.”

John hopped down from the counter, sliding his bowl onto the island in the same fluid movement. “Alex…”

“No, John, I’m fine.” Alex leaned back against the island and crossed his arms. “I don’t need charity and I don’t need you fighting my battles for me, so...”

“Whoa whoa, don’t get mad at _me_ \--”

Alex wheeled around to face Lafayette, who’d been glaring by the stove, oddly silent. “Listen, tomorrow’s Friday. I’ll get you the money as soon as the direct deposit hits, I _promise_.”

John raised his eyebrows in Lafayette’s general direction, bottom lip jutting out. “See? He promises.”

Making a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, Lafayette pushed past both of them, yanked open the fridge to deposit his carton of almond milk, and stomped into the living room. He dropped on top of Herc, who had been watching Project Runway, eating a bagel, and resolutely ignoring them.

Herc choked on a bite of everything and cream cheese as Lafayette’s entire weight landed on his chest. “Marquis de _Fuckface_ \--”

“Distract me, Hercules,” Lafayette said, draping himself around Herc’s neck, “I can’t handle those two any more than I need to right now.”

“Well _I_ ,” Herc said, shoving the last of his bagel into his mouth and pushing Lafayette onto the floor, “am going to go get ready for work. Figure out your shit, we’re leaving in fifteen.”

John threw his head back. “But _mom_...”

Herc threw a glare over his shoulder as he walked back to his room. “Don’t talk to your mother in that tone.”

“Listen,” Alex said hurriedly to Lafayette as John ran after Herc and, if the grunt from down the hall was anything to go by, jumped on his back, “I’ll get you the money. I promise. I know it’s been rough these past few weeks--”

“For _who_?” Lafayette muttered, still on the floor, but Alex ignored him.

“And I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry.”

Lafayette shot him a very pointed look, and in that look, Alex saw the past weeks of missed rent. He saw every time Herc paid for him when they went out, every time he halfheartedly argued but ended up caving. He saw the future, sliding James Reynolds money every fourteen days, even when he was a lawyer, even when he was successful. The dirty things he did still hanging over him.

“When will he end it?” he muttered to himself, thinking about Reynolds, about money, about years going by that he’d need to keep this secret from John. Their first year anniversary, the trip they’d talked about taking to California, their wedding day. That secret hanging above it all.

“Huh?” Lafayette said, rolling over and getting to his knees. Alex shook his head.

“Nothing, man. So we’re good?”

“We’re good,” Lafayette said, slowly, like they weren’t that good but he saw no point in continuing the argument. Alex held out his hand and helped him off the floor, and together they cleaned up the breakfast dishes, packed up the pastries Lafayette had baked the night before, and led the way out of the apartment and down the street to Libertea.

Halfway through the walk, Alex kicked Lafayette in the shin, Lafayette kicked back, and that’s when Alex knew they were really good.

The four of them set up the shop in record time and Herc unlocked the door only a few minutes after seven. They didn’t need to rush, though, because their first customer, a snowflake-covered and bundled up Theodosia Bartow, only came into the shop at seven forty-five.

“Liven up,” she said, clapping her icy mittens together, sending sprays of water across the floor. John shifted where he was trying to sleep on the counter, head pillowed in his arms, and Alex looked up from one of his dog-eared textbooks.

“Morning, Theo. Want some coffee?”

“The biggest one you got,” she said, sliding onto a stool. Lafayette came out from the kitchen and handed her a chocolate croissant, throwing a salute back over his shoulder when she _mmm_ ed in assent. John shook himself awake long enough to make her a large coffee, sliding it across the counter into her waiting hand, along with two packets of sugar and one of the individually packaged creamers.

“Why aren’t you at Libertwo?” Alex asked, pulling up his own stool on the opposite side of the counter. The shop was dead, and he hadn’t really talked with Theo since she told him about her possible sickness. She looked better than she had that day; the dark smudges under her eyes weren’t as pronounced, her lips were full and not chapped in the least. “Burr must miss you like crazy.”

Theo laughed, a musical, ringing, not-at-all-sick noise that had Alex grinning, too. John groaned and buried his head farther into his arms. 

“I’m sure Aaron can take care of himself. And, not to take sides or anything, but John’s coffee’s way better than Jefferson’s.”

At that, John’s head shot up.

“ _Fuck_ yeah, it fucking is!”

Theo laughed again and took another sip. The three of them stayed like that for a while; John pressed up against Alex on their side of the counter, sharing a chocolate chip cookie, while Theo told them stories about Burr. Even when other customers started to slowly trickle in, rubbing their hands against the cold and shaking the snow out of their hair, she stayed. 

“You know what I like?” she asked, draining the rest of her coffee and pushing the cup towards John for a refill. “How warm it is in here. It’s warm and it smells like dark roast and I’m never going outside ever again.”

John slid her cup back across the counter. “Not a winter person, I’m guessing?”

“Nah,” she said, breathing in the coffee steam. “I grew up in West Cali. Winter sucks butt.”

“I hear that,” Alex said from behind the register. He swiped another customer’s card as John fixed their drink and Lafayette bustled around behind both of them, filling up the pastry display with freshly baked chocolate loaf. “West Indies. If I could get rid of winter forever--”

“You’d be my hero,” Theo said through sips of coffee.

John shrugged as their group of customers left, letting a gust of cold air into the shop. “I don’t mind winter. Winter means snow, and big sweaters, and fireplaces and Christmas and--”

“Okay, Cold Miser, we get it,” Theo said. “It’s also slush and stuffy noses and wet shoes.”

“You can’t cuddle in the summer,” John shot back, bumping Alex’s hip with his own. “Check and mate.”

“You can if you have air conditioning,” Theo said. 

John gestured at the door, which had blown open a crack, admitting freezing cold air and piles of snow flurries. “ _Nature’s air conditioning!_ ”

Herc got up from the big table where he’d been sorting teas, and slammed the door shut. “Winter sucks, Laurens, it’s three against one.”

“I agree with them, _ami_.” Lafayette poked his head out of the delivery window. “I’d much rather have fall. Even spring is better, and that’s with all of the pollen and allergies.”

John fell back against Alex, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Y’all _kill me_.”

Lafayette came out of the kitchen and pulled up a stool beside Theo. 

“How are we doing?” he asked, looking over at Alex. “I mean, business-wise. Washington’s over at Libertwo and he wants to know what’s going on here.”

Alex pressed a button on the register and it popped open. It was a little sparse, especially in the slots for bigger bills. He rifled through a stack of tens. “Eh, not that great. It’d be better if there wasn’t a literal blizzard going on outside, because winter sucks.”

John hit his arm. Lafayette’s thumbs flew across his touchscreen.

“The commander says it’s slow at Libertwo, too,” he said. “They’re closing down in an hour and coming here. He also says if I want to send anyone home, I can. So, yeah. Anyone want to go home early?”

Herc lifted both arms from his spot at the big table. “Just let me finish this up and I’ll be gone. I haven’t done laundry in like two weeks and I have that skirt I’m working on for Peggy, it’ll be nice to get some down time for once.”

John glanced over at Alex. “I wouldn’t mind a half-day, either. I’ve been kicking ass in _Minecraft_ and I kinda want to keep going.”

“I’m staying,” Alex said hurriedly, the unspoken _because I need the money_ hanging in the air. “Laf, I’m sure I can hold down the fort until Washington gets here if you want to head out, too.”

“That’s okay,” Lafayette said as he headed back into the kitchen. “I’d only bake at the apartment, anyway, and I’d rather use the oven here.”

“I’ll keep you company,” Theo said, taking a sip of her coffee. “And if Aaron comes here with Washington, you better not tell him I told you that story about him and the garbage disposal.”

John cackled as he pulled on his coat, and Alex grinned along with him.

“My lips are sealed.”

Herc and John left, Herc with two of Lafayette’s cookies and John with a promise from Alex to text him if anything exciting happened, and five minutes later, a snow-covered Eliza and Angelica Schuyler pushed through into the shop. 

“Two out of three Schuylers!” Theo called from the bar. “Now it’s a party.”

“We had Peggy, too,” Eliza said, taking a seat next to Theo, as Angelica took both of their coats and hung them on the rack over the heater, “until we ran into Hercules and John walking home and they stole her.”

“Mulligan said he had a prototype of a skirt for her to try on.” Angelica sat on Theo’s other side. “Also known as, a big pile of bullshit. I think they’ve made out every time they’re alone in the same room. Your roommate better watch himself, Hamilton.”

“You’re worried about _Peggy?_ ” Alex raised his eyebrows. “I’d be more worried about Herc, if we’re being honest.”

Eliza laughed. “That is true. Ang, she’s vicious. You taught her well.”

“I’m just saying.” Angelica reached over and broke a piece off of the cookie that Alex had been sharing with Theo. “Anyway, why were they walking home? It looks like this place is packed.”

Alex did a pointed scan of the shop, from the empty tables to the full pastry case to the lacking cash register. “Yeah, why’d they leave? We have _so many customers_.”

“Washington closed the other shop, too,” Theo said. “He’s coming here with Aaron and the others, I’m guessing, unless he sent them home, too.”

She checked her phone.

“If Aaron got sent home and he didn’t text me, I’m going to be pissed.”

Eliza laughed and took some cookie for herself. “I guess we can hang out for a while until then. I’m sure Ang won’t mind if we stay.” Angelica rolled her eyes, smacking her sister’s shoulder around Theo’s back.

“How are you guys doing, anyway?” Alex asked, moving around behind the counter to pour drinks; a medium coffee for Angelica, some of Herc’s cinnamon tea for Eliza. “That little domestic scene I saw the other day was adorable--”

“What did you see?” Eliza asked, taking her drink and warming her hands. “And you didn’t text me? Come on, Alexander, I thought we were friends.”

“Betsey, you know I don’t want to air all of your lovely sister’s dirty secrets--”

“Hold on,” Angelica said, also accepting the drink Alex handed her. “One, no one calls her _Betsey_ except for our dad. And, two, dirty secrets? I’m an open book, bitch!”

“I saw her cleaning house with Jefferson the other day,” Alex said as an aside to both Eliza and Theo. "She was sweeping, he was washing the windows. It gave me cavities.”

“I’m not embarrassed by that,” Angelica said matter-of-factly. “Just be happy you didn’t come by ten minutes later. That would have given you a lot more than cavities.” Alex made a gagging noise as she winked at him.

The bells on the door jangled as someone entered the shop, along with a rush of frigid winter air. Alex turned, expecting to see Burr, or Washington, but it was Maria. 

He took a stumbling step back, fingers clenched in defensive fists, as Maria Lewis entered Libertea, shaking the snow off of her arms, tucking her hat into her coat pocket. _She’s not allowed here,_ his brain yelled as he forced himself to keep breathing, keep the air flowing into and out of his lungs. _She’s not allowed here!_

“Morning,” he managed to get out. He didn’t know if his voice sounded normal, he just knew he had to say something. “What can I get you?”

Maria approached the counter warily, almost like she hadn’t known Alex was going to be working. Her foundation was uneven, caked thicker on her neck than on her face, and her winged eyeliner was dramatic and distracting. 

“I’ll just have a small coffee,” she said, and he watched her gaze go from his hands to his lips to his eyes. “Sorry if I’m any trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” he replied, and turned to pour her coffee.

“I love your jeans,” he heard Eliza say as his back was turned. “I’ve been looking for a nice dark wash forever, and I love how well they fit into your boots.”

“I found them up the street, actually,” Maria said, her voice quiet. “This little boutique.”

“I’ll have to check it out,” Eliza said, pushing her cup towards Alex for a refill as he turned back to the counter with Maria’s coffee. 

“That’ll be two fifty,” he said, almost wanting to overcharge her, but he knew that both Schuylers knew their menu too well to pull it off. Maria unclasped her purse and rifled around, growing increasingly more desperate when she didn’t find what she was looking for.

“Shit,” she said under her breath, plopping the bag down on one of the bar stools to look further. She patted both of her coat pockets, glancing up at the ceiling when she found nothing. “Listen, I must have left my wallet at home. I’ll run and see if I--”

“You have to be kidding me,” Alex muttered. Eliza shot him a look, opening her own wallet and sliding her card across the counter.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said to Maria. “Sit with us for a little bit. It’s way too cold to head out now, anyway.”

“Oh my God, thank you.” Maria dropped her purse on the floor and gave Eliza a grateful look. “I honestly don’t know where my wallet went. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“It’s not a problem,” Eliza said, making both Theodosia and Angelica scoot down one stool so Maria could sit next to her. Alex swiped her card and handed it back to her, along with a refill of tea, and turned his back before any of the girls could catch him rolling his eyes. Why was she here? Was she seriously trying to ruin any part of his life that was good?

His phone vibrated in his back pocket.

**Betsey S.**

ES: What’s your problem, Alex? Do you know her?

AH: nothing, liza.

ES: Bullshit. You’re acting like a jackass.

AH: why?? cause i didn’t give her free coffee?

ES: You give me free stuff all the time.

AH: you’re my friend

AH: she’s a stranger.

Alex looked up, caught the tail end of Eliza’s eye roll before she slipped her phone back into her purse and turned to Maria.

“I’m Eliza Schuyler,” she said, and held out her hand. The other girl grinned, the first genuine smile Alex had ever seen cross her face, and shook it. “Me and my sisters come here a lot. The baristas are kind of awful, but you get used to it.”

Alex rolled his eyes again.

“Maria Lewis,” she said, and took a sip of coffee. “And I’ve never been in here before. It seems like a pretty nice place. Are you guys her sisters?”

“Angelica Schuyler,” Angelica said, leaning around Theo to introduce herself. “One of two. Peggy’s our other sister, but she’s busy making out with some guy who also works here. Don’t hang out with Libertea employees or you’ll end up sucking face with one, I swear to God.”

“She speaks from experience,” Eliza said, grinning at her sister when she threw a wad of napkins at her. 

“And I’m Theodosia Bartow,” Theo said, also offering Maria her hand. “Call me Theo. And I’m engaged to one of those damn Libertea baristas, but in my defense, I agreed to marry him before he started working here.”

“I’m telling Burr,” Alex said, pulling out his phone as Theo cackled.

“And that’s Alex Hamilton,” Eliza said, gesturing to him with both hands. “Cash register runner, coffee slinger, joiner of the dating-Libertea-employees ranks…”

“Nice to meet you, Alex,” Maria said, and held out her hand. 

“My pleasure,” he said, and took it. Her fingers were warm from holding her coffee, and she squeezed his hand once, twice. “What brings you to Libertea today, in this weather? I don’t think I’ve ever waited on you before.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I just needed something warm, I guess.”

Eliza turned to face the window. “Look who’s here.”

The rest of the girls turned as well. Angelica scoffed.

“It’s _way_ too dangerous for him to be driving like that.”

Jefferson pulled the Espada up to the curb in front of Libertea, spraying slush so far that it hit the first two windows of the shop. Washington got out of the front seat, hefting a cardboard box in his arms, and Burr and Madison got out of the back. As soon as they’d cleared the car, Jefferson peeled away.

“You need to tell him to calm the fuck down,” Angelica called as soon as Madison stepped foot in the shop. “I’m not getting a call at three in the morning from you telling me to come to a hospital because he thought it was cool to do donuts in the middle of January.”

“He’s just parking,” Madison said, swapping seats with Theo so that he could sit next to Angelica. “You can tell him yourself in a few minutes.”

Washington approached the counter, plunking down his slightly damp cardboard box that was, after Alex peeked inside, full of everything Madison had baked that day at Libertwo. 

“Help yourselves,” Washington said. “We’re going to shut down in about an hour, it’s getting way too dangerous outside to keep all of you here.” Theo reached up and rifled through the box, picking out a cherry scone for herself, handing a blueberry muffin back to Burr, who had come to stand behind her stool, and sliding two macadamia nut cookies across the bar to Maria.

“Compliments of the chef,” she said, and jerked her thumb at Madison. “That guy.”

“Welcome to Libertea,” Washington said, shaking Maria’s hand. “Sorry you came on a bad day, we don’t usually kick our customers out three hours before closing.”

“I’m Maria,” she replied, smiling another bright smile at Washington. “And it’s fine, I probably should be getting home anyway. My boyfriend doesn’t like me out very late.”

“Boyfriend?” Eliza asked as Jefferson entered, shaking the snow off of his knee-length wool coat and hanging it next to the Schuylers’. Maria nodded.

“His name’s James.”

“His name’s James, too,” Jefferson said, pointing at Madison as he took the stool next to Maria and a piece of her cookie. “And I’m Thomas, leader of this whole Libertea squad.”

“Maria,” she said, handing him the rest of the cookie. “And I really should be going.”

“Come hang out with us again sometime,” Theodosia said, bagging up a couple of cookies and muffins for her to take along. “We’re all usually here whenever it’s open.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Eliza said. 

“Thank you so much for the coffee,” Maria replied. “I promise I’ll pay you back next time I see you.”

“Don’t worry about it, seriously!”

“And thanks, Alex,” Maria said, locking eyes with him, her expression serious, her words lighthearted. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Have a good night,” Alex replied, equally as amicably, trying to ignore how his palms were sweating and how his empty wallet was burning a hole in his pocket. She looked nothing like Reynolds, but every time he looked at her it was all he could see.

She left, the bells ringing behind her, and Washington divvied up the rest of Madison’s baked goods between them. Alex and Lafayette got a bag of brownie squares and blondie circles, the Schuylers got the rest of the cookies and the chocolate croissants, and Theodosia claimed the blueberry loaf for her and Burr. 

Alex walked home with Lafayette, Madison, and Jefferson after locking up, dodging piles of slush and ignoring as Jefferson and Madison argued about his dangerous driving habits. His sneakers were soaked through by the time they reached the apartment, and he kicked them off in the doorway before heading further in.

Herc and John had ordered pizza, and the four of them, along with Jefferson and Madison, crowded around the TV to watch _Breaking Bad_. John made himself comfortable leaning against Alex on the bigger couch, his feet in Herc’s lap and his head on Alex’s shoulder, and halfway through their third episode of the night, he fell asleep.

Madison was also asleep, curled up in their biggest armchair with Jefferson on the floor, leaning against his legs, and Lafayette laying on his stomach next to him, playing with Georges.

Alex’s phone _ping_ ed twice in a row as, on screen, Walter White yelled at someone. A notification from his bank, the direct deposit had been put in and was available. And a text.

**Reynolds**

JR: see u tomorrow (kiss emoji)

•••

Alex loitered outside of Connexion d’Amour, five twenties burning a hole in his pocket and slush melting into his sneakers. His workday had been just as slow as the previous day; Washington hadn’t even bothered opening Libertwo, and instead had given the day to Burr, Jefferson, and Madison to work at Libertea instead, since their workday had been cut even shorter the day before. Alex hadn’t been technically scheduled, but he worked a few hours anyway, until Washington made him go home early.

He’d texted Reynolds. 

“Hey, bitch.” 

Alex tensed, wrapping the money in his right fist. “James. Let’s get this over with.”

“Well?” Reynolds stopped in front of him, holding out his hand expectantly, Alex slipped him the money, reluctant and hesitant, and in a heartbeat was a hundred dollars poorer. “Pleasure doin’ business with you, Ham.”

“Sure,” Alex snapped back. “And don’t send your attack dog after me at work next time.”

“Excuse me?”

“Maria was in Libertea yesterday,” he said. “My workplace is off-limits, Reynolds, or this whole thing is done.”

“Hm.” Reynolds’ eyes narrowed like he was deep in thought. “Fair enough. I didn’t know it had happened, but it won’t happen again.”

He left, looking back at Alex only once, his eyes still slitted and pensive. Alex, for some reason, lingered, snow drifting softly from the sky and clouds roiling above. His phone buzzed twice in his pocket and he didn’t check it right away. Every time he looked at his phone it seemed like it was something bad.

_I’m just trying to take my life back_ , he thought, and pulled out his phone.

**Asshole Supreme**

TJ: yo alex we have to talk

TJ: my apt, 5 minutes

AH: what do you want, thomas?

TJ: we know.

•••

Alex skidded to a halt outside of Jefferson’s apartment and bent over, hands on his knees, to try and catch his breath. He hadn’t meant to run the whole way, but as soon as he read those words he’d started and hadn’t stopped until he reached the familiar purple door.

_We know we know we know we know we know we know we know…_

“Know what?” Alex muttered to himself through heaving breaths. “They don’t know anything. And who’s _they_ , anyway? Nothing’s wrong, everything’s fine...”

He straightened up and faced the door and steeled himself. 

It was open a crack already, so he pushed on it to admit himself. The kitchen light was off but a light farther into the apartment was glowing invitingly; there was a pile of damp shoes in a corner by the refrigerator and Thomas’s keys dangled off of the wine rack. Alex added his sneakers to the pile and moved deeper into the room.

The first person he saw was Burr. He was sitting, fingers steepled, on the couch with Jefferson as Madison paced a few feet in front of them. Jefferson looked relaxed, Burr looked angry, and Madison looked antsy.

“Jefferson,” Alex said, stopping in his tracks. “Madison. Burr.”

They all turned to look at him.

He raised both eyebrows. “What is this?”

“We saw you,” Jefferson said, raising an eyebrow of his own, accusing and vicious. “Your, what was it, handoff?”

“By the club,” Madison cut in quickly.

Burr made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and let his head fall back. “We don’t know anything. I can’t believe you two dragged me into this, there’s no _proof_ \--”

Alex crossed his arms. Burr was right, they didn’t have proof. They had nothing. “What, exactly do you think I’m doing?”

Jefferson stood, taking three lazy strides until he was right in front of Alex. “I think you’re stealing from Washington. Taking from Libertea and handing it off to that guy so the money’s not on your person. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“We saw you hand money to that guy, Alex,” Madison said from behind Jefferson. Alex rounded on him.

“Really, _James?_ Is that what you saw? Come on, man, you know me, you know Washington. Why the fuck would you think I’m stealing from him?”

Madison shrugged one shoulder. “Lafayette said you’re falling behind with the rent.”

“Oh, _fuck_ you guys--”

“Hamilton,” Burr said, standing up himself and pushing Jefferson out of the way. “Just tell us what’s going on. I know you’re not stealing, I _know_ that, but these guys have some valid points.”

Alex laughed, one loud snap, right in Burr’s face. “You assholes don’t even know what you’re asking me to confess.”

“Confess,” Jefferson repeated. “So there’s something.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Alex said. “You have no proof, and if you check the register against the books you still won’t have anything. I never touched Washington’s money, I don’t have to tell you anything!”

He paused.

“Unless…”

Madison crowded behind both Burr and Jefferson, and Alex could see the stark interest blazing in all three sets of eyes.

“Unless?” Madison asked.

“If I can prove, once and for all, that I did nothing wrong, that I’m not to blame…” Alex shoved his hands into his pockets. “You have to promise never to breathe a word of it to anyone else. Ever.”

Burr met his eyes with a hard-as-stone gaze of his own. “No one else has to know.”

Alex bit the inside of his lip until he tasted metal.

“I cheated on John.”

Jefferson took a shocked step back, running into both Burr and Madison. “ _Whaaaat--_

“The guy you saw, his name is James Reynolds. I met his girlfriend, Maria, yeah, _that_ Maria, a month or two ago and I kissed her. Reynolds has been blackmailing me this whole time, I give him a hundred dollars every week and he keeps his mouth shut. That’s the handoff you saw, it’s because I’m cheating scum, not because I’m a fucking _criminal_...”

He stopped before his voice could catch on the sob that had been creeping up his throat. Looking from Jefferson to Burr to Madison, all he could see was disbelief and shock.

Jefferson shook his head. “My God.”

“This is none of our business,” Madison said. “We should have never done this. Alex, you should go.”

Alex wrung his hands. “What are you guys going to--”

“We’re doing nothing,” Madison said, looking pointedly from Jefferson to Burr to Alex. “No one else will know what we know, you have my word.”

Alex forced himself to meet Burr’s gaze. He’d lived for years with the fact that he was helping Theodosia cheat on her old fiancé, maybe he’d be sympathetic. 

“Burr?”

His dark eyes were full of an emotion Alex didn’t have a name for. Pity, maybe, or understanding. “Alexander, rumors only grow. And we both know what we know.”

•••

Alex walked, alone, through the swirling winds. It was a rough storm, but not the roughest he’d ever been in.

Snowflakes whipped past him as he dug his chin deeper into the collar of his coat. There was no way he was going back to his apartment just yet, there was no way that he was going to cuddle with John, there was no way he was going to pretend everything was normal when three other people now had the power to ruin his life.

It would kill him if John found out, but it would be even worse if John found out from Madison, or Burr, or Thomas Jefferson.

“This has to end,” he said to himself. The street was empty, anyway, no one around but him and the moon, and the moon was blocked by snow clouds. 

He walked and thought, and thought and walked. Thought about his old life in Nevis and his new life in New York City, thought about slipping his feet into his old ratty sneakers and walking to the best job he’d ever known, thought about John’s hands and John’s kind eyes and John’s warm lips and his calming words and his constant reassurances and his heart.

Thought about how once John had gotten drunk and cried over a gif of a sloth in a hammock.

Thought about how John constantly had indents on his palms from digging his nails into the skin in anger whenever he watched the news.

Thought about how John had told him that he loved him.

He walked and thought about everything he had and everything he stood to lose.

He headed back to the apartment only when his feet were numb and his nose was running and his eyes were burning. Everyone was asleep, so he dragged his laptop to the kitchen table and booted it up. 

The clock ticked on as he typed and clicked and dragged, uploading picture after picture after picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Have you read this?
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com! The hashtag on all social media is #SOLTEA, and yes, I do track it!
> 
> -Gab


	26. HIGHLIGHTS!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News spreads quickly.
> 
> (The first bit of this chapter details a little of the abuse Reynolds puts Maria through. If that's something that you don't want to read, this is a warning.)

Maria brushed a thumb across her left eyebrow. It was always the one that gave her the most problems, and she hadn't taken the time to pluck them in ages. She grabbed a pair of tweezers from the bathroom drawer, pulling out one hair, two, three, until she was satisfied. She arched an eyebrow, swiped another coat of lipstick over her bottom lip, and went over her neck one more time with a fluffy foundation brush. 

Because Maria Lewis had a superpower. She could make painful things disappear. 

The cut on her lip? Gone. 

The black eye she'd been nursing for the past four days? Gone. 

The newest set of fingerprints around her neck, thanks to a dropped bag of Chex mix the night prior? Gone. 

(There were a few things she couldn't work her magic on. The bruised ribs she’d gotten the week earlier, the jutting hipbones from the days food was impossible to choke down, the black and purple splotches on her knees from hours spent curled on the shower floor, among other things. She had clothes to thank for hiding the abrasions, thick winter sweaters and high-necked shirts and the softest jeans she owned. She caked makeup on the dark circles under her eyes and wiped away the tear tracks down her cheeks and smiled, fucking _smiled_ through the rest of it.)

“Babe?”

That was James, his voice weaving down the hall and under the bathroom door. It was too sweet; thick and cloying, and she could feel it like long fingernails down her back. 

“Maria!” he called again, deeper, sharper. She placed the tweezers back in their spot, careful not to knock anything else out of place before hooking her hair behind her ears, swiping a finger underneath her right eye, and answering his summons.

“What is it?” she asked, closing the bathroom door behind her and heading down the hall to James’ living room. It wasn’t hers, even though it was technically the only place in the world she could call home, it was _his_. Everything was his. The plates in the cabinets, the single pillow on his bed, the scratchy rug underneath her bare feet. 

He was there, leaning on the kitchen table, shoulders raised and head bent, his back muscles knotted in tight, angry coils. His phone was between his hands, lit up in blue and white, it was frozen on someone’s Facebook page. James didn’t turn to face her, but stayed staring at the phone.

“ _Have you read this?_ ”

She took a jittery half-step back at the sound of his voice. It was deep, it was guttural, it was _scary_. 

“Read what?” she asked, forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other towards him. "Babe? Read what?"

James reared back and threw his phone, missing Maria’s head by a few feet, even as she ducked and dodged. It didn’t break, just skittered down the hall, and she retrieved it while he leaned back down, heaving angry breaths onto the table’s surface. 

The screen was dim, and she tapped once to brighten it up again. She recognized the profile picture; two people, their faces pressed together as they took a photo in selfie mode. This was a post from Alex Hamilton, and every single picture in the album he’d posted was like a dagger in her heart.

One of her, sultry and smokey-eyed, coiled around him like a snake about to strike.

One of him, staring at her like she held the answers to the universe.

One of them, kissing, the world stopped.

A block of text accompanied the pictures, and she only read the first line before James stalked down the hall to join her, and ripped the phone out of her grip. He pushed her shoulder, slamming her against the bathroom door. The curved handle dug into her spine, making her arch her back and gasp in pain.

“Is this how you repay me?” he asked, punctuating each word with drops of saliva on her cheek and wild, flaming eyes. “I take you in, I fucking take _care_ of you, and you, what is this? What do you even think you’re doing? Is he going to save you? Poor _fucking_ Maria, right?”

She didn’t say anything. She’d learned a long time ago there was nothing she could say that would make him stop.

James raged. She took it.

The phone lay on the floor, forgotten.

  


_“I’ve recently been accused of stealing money from my job at Sons of Libertea, to pay off a man named James Reynolds…_

  


Madison turned over in bed, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. He still had a good twenty minutes before his alarm would go off, and, he reassured himself as he checked his phone, his work alarm was still set. He had a perfectly rational fear of accidentally forgetting to set it, which sometimes manifested itself in him setting alarms to make sure he remembered to set his alarm.

He could’ve fallen back asleep for those last twenty minutes, but after looking at his bright phone screen, he was wide awake. He didn’t want to get out of bed, either; the thought of the cold hardwood floorboards against his bare feet was enough to make him burrow deeper underneath the heavy comforter. 

So he did something to pass the time that he hardly ever did, and started to scroll through his Facebook feed.

And between John Jay’s status about job hunting and Ben Tallmadge’s engagement to some scruffy looking guy named Caleb, he saw a photo album posted by Alexander Hamilton.

“Posted at three in the morning,” Madison muttered to himself, clicking onto the first picture. “What the hell are you doing, Hamilton?”

As he swiped through the pictures, it became increasingly obvious what Hamilton was doing.

“Ruining his damn life,” he said, pulling his phone off of the charger and rolling over. Feeling around with his foot, he found Thomas’s leg and nudged it once, twice, three times. “Thomas. Wake up.”

Thomas groaned and moved closer to Madison, turning over and flinging one arm across his chest. “ _God_... Mads, shut… Fuck…”

Madison pushed him away, relentlessly pressing his cold feet onto any bare skin that he could find until Thomas pushed back with renewed vigor. He was terrible in the morning, all groggy and tired. During a normal workday, he didn’t fully function until around eleven, and even that was after at least three cups of Libertwo’s strongest roast.

“Wake up,” Madison repeated. “I need to talk to you about something.” 

“Damn it, James, I’m trying to fucking _sleep_ \--” Thomas propped himself up on one elbow, leaning back and flipping on a lamp. “Is something wrong? Are you trying to get me back for the whole nacho cheese thing last night? ‘Cause this is a _wildly inappropriate_ way of doing so--”

Madison held his phone out. “Look what Hamilton did.”

Thomas trailed off, taking Madison’s phone in both of his hands and looking for himself, swiping through pictures, his eyes moving as he devoured the text block that accompanied the slew of photos. Madison watched as his eyes widened with shock, then realization, then horror.

“What the fuck?”

“This is our fault,” Madison said, grabbing his phone back and exiting Facebook. “We made him do this; we freaked him out so bad that he--”

“No way.” Thomas fell back onto a stack of pillows. “He’s a grown ass man, he made a stupid decision and then made another one by putting it on the internet for everyone and their mother to see. Jem, I know you feel bad, but this is his own damn fault.”

“We should have never confronted him about the money.”

“Okay, bad call on our part, but look at it this way. He didn’t want this to happen? He should have never cheated on Laurens and then made _shady fucking back alley deals_ to try and weasel his way out of it.”

Thomas scrolled through the pictures again as Madison watched.

"Damn. You ever see somebody ruin their own life?"

Madison didn't answer, instead moving closer to Thomas. He ran cold and Thomas ran hot, it was his favorite thing in the world to be underneath a blanket with him, soaking up his body heat. It was even nicer when Angelica was there, like she’d been almost every night recently, sandwiched between them with her long hair tied up on top of her head and her nose buried in the crook of Madison’s neck while her legs tangled with Thomas’s. 

He’d never pictured himself with someone like Thomas Jefferson, and he sure as hell never pictured himself with anyone like Angelica Schuyler. 

(They were working out the details. He’d gone with Angelica for drinks two nights prior, both of them still trying to figure out how to be friends, albeit friends who shared a bed with their third partner most nights.)

“ _We’re all dating,_ ” Madison remembered Thomas saying as he tried to explain their relationship to Burr one day at Libertwo. “ _This one time we all held hands on the street and almost gave this old guy a heart attack_ \--”

“ _So you’re all sleeping together?_ ” 

Thomas had rolled his eyes over at Madison like he couldn’t believe he even had to explain himself. He pointed at him. “ _That’s Mads. Gay as hell. Doesn’t like sex. There’s a name for that, but I don’t know what it is_.” 

“ _Ace,_ ” Madison and Burr had said at the same time.

“ _That’s the one. Ang is straight, but she and Mads have this thing going where they cook paella together and go out for drinks and steal my car and watch movies when I’m not around to make commentary--_ ”

“ _It’s called friendship_ ,” Madison had said as an aside to Burr.

“ _And I’m bi, so I’m good either way,_ ” Thomas had finished, shrugging one shoulder. “ _I don’t really know what we’re doing, but it’s working pretty well so far._ ”

“ _That’s really nice,_ ” Burr had replied, “ _and I’m glad you cleared that up for me. But my original question still stands; where do we keep the extra hot cups?_ ”

Madison grinned at the memory, flipping over and pressing his nose into the side of Thomas’s face. “We need to get ready for work.”

Thomas groaned, pulling the comforter over both of their heads. “Or we could stay here all day where it’s warm and no one’s making an idiot of themselves on social media.”

Madison hummed in assent as Thomas pulled out his phone, lighting up their blanket tent. He was texting Burr, seeing if he’d seen what Alex had done. 

“Okay, five more minutes.”

  


_My real crime is evident in the accompanying pictures, taken by Reynolds…_

  
Burr’s phone buzzed in his back pocket, making him shift awkwardly where he was standing. He and Theo were in their doctor’s waiting room, and even this early in the morning, the place was packed.

Theo had tested negative for cancer again and again, even after their scare before the holidays, but she was still worried. Her symptoms had regressed; she was eating again, gaining back the weight she’d lost, and her skin looked brighter and healthier. She’d stopped staying at the Washingtons’, even though Martha hadn’t minded (as a nurse, she’d been worried about Theo as well, and liked to keep her close), and she was now living with him. She’d moved in for good on Christmas day, bringing her paintings and her blogging work station and her beautiful self into his apartment permanently.

They were getting married in April, but every time Burr looked at her he wanted to pick her up and run to the courthouse, wedding venue be damned.

His phone buzzed again, and he was pretty sure the entire waiting room heard it.

Theodosia certainly did. She looked up at him from where she was sitting, perched on the arm of an distastefully upholstered armchair. “You gonna get that?”

“It’s probably just Madison, wondering where I am,” he said. “I told them twenty times that we had a doctor’s appointment this morning and I’ll be in later. They can figure it out themselves.”

“I could’ve come here alone,” Theo said, weaving her fingers through his. “I don’t need my big strong future husband coming with me to every doctor’s appointment. Especially when--”

Her eyes widened and she doubled over, making an awful groaning noise from the bottom of her throat. Burr was kneeling in an instant, whipping out a plastic bag from his coat pocket, untying it in a heartbeat and holding it under her mouth.

“Nope,” she said, holding up her hand as she sat back up, eyes squeezed shut. “False alarm. Quick reflexes, though, you’re getting better at this.”

Burr laughed, taking her hand in his again. This had been normal for the past few days, Theo vomiting into any volume holding container she could get her hands on, and that’s why they were at the doctors’ at seven in the morning. If this was a new symptom rearing it’s head… Burr didn’t know what he’d do.

Theo nudged him in the ribs. “Check your phone.”

Just as he reached for it, a nurse entered the waiting room through double doors, clipboard in hand and dressed head to toe in blue scrubs.

“Bartow, Theodosia?” he asked, scanning the crowds, tapping his pen on the top of the clipboard. Theo raised her hand from the corner, gathering her things (including the plastic bag that Burr had haphazardly shoved into his coat pocket) and giving Burr’s hand a quick squeeze.

“I’ll be right back out. It’ll be good news, I promise.” She guided him into her seat, giving him the lightest peck on the forehead before rushing over to the nurse. Burr slumped farther down into the seat as soon as the doors whispered shut behind her, kneading his forehead with his knuckles. 

_It’ll be good news_. It had better fucking be. 

To take his mind off of brightly lit hospital corridors and probing tests and Theo’s probably clenched-together fingers (she hated hospitals, always had), he took out his phone and thumbed through his recent texts.

One from the previous night, Theo, promising Chinese takeout. A paragraph from Washington, thanking him for a great week of sales at Libertwo. And three new ones, all in a row, from Thomas Jefferson.

**Jefferson**

TJ: burr holy fuck

TJ: go on hams fbook page

TJ: !!!!!!!!!

Burr rolled his eyes and clicked onto the blue Facebook icon. He had only known Jefferson for a few months, but this was exactly like him. Overly dramatic about other people’s business, dragging Burr into things that were none of his…

And he read Alex’s post. And his jaw dropped.

**Jefferson**

AB: Damn.

He spent the rest of the time in the waiting room fidgeting, reading Alex’s post again and again, and ignoring Jefferson’s other texts. When the nurse returned and beckoned him farther into the hospital he practically ran; as soon as he got the room number he was gone.

“Theo,” he started, bursting into the hospital room, “you’ll never guess what Hamilton wrote--”

He stopped in his tracks. Theo was propped up on a hospital bed, her shirt pulled up under her chin. A doctor crouched by her bed, the medical tool in her hand pressed against Theo’s bare stomach. 

“What’s going on?”

Theo grinned up at him, and even the flourescent lights on the ceiling dimmed in comparison.

“I think whatever Alex did can wait,” she said. “I didn't want to tell you until I was completely sure, but... Aaron, I have some news of my own.”

  


_...of me and his girlfriend, Maria Lewis, at the club Connexion de Amour…_

  
Someone had reorganized the break room, and everything was near impossible to find.

Martha Washington muttered the rudest word she knew under her breath, slamming the fifth cabinet door in a row. She just wanted some hospital grade creamer for her hospital grade coffee; she’d pulled a night shift and had been on her feet for ten and a half hours in a row, not counting the two minute break she’d taken halfway through her shift to pee. 

There was a day’s end for businesspeople, a day’s end for librarians. Even teachers got to go home when the bell rang. 

She slumped into a hard, plastic break room chair. 

No end of the day for nurses. No quitting time when people kept getting hurt; fracturing their elbows and jamming unidentified shit up their noses and eating candy wrappers. She was on duty from the second she stepped into the parking lot, and even when she went home, work followed her.

(George had dropped an entire armful of china plates on his foot the other day; she couldn’t stay away from disaster even in her own home.)

Even her unofficial children sometimes treated her like their personal doctor; Lafayette texted her every time he sneezed, John once slept on her living room floor because he had a stomachache and was convinced he was dying, and, recently, Theodosia Bartow had attached herself to Martha’s hip. She didn’t mind, though. It meant they loved her.

She leaned her elbows onto the table, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her scrubs. Two texts from George, a line of heart emojis interspersed with random other emojis (he claimed his thumbs were too big for the screen, but she knew he was just clumsy and didn’t use the backspace button), and a plea for her to use the epsom salts he’d bought for her feet as soon as she got home. She grinned and sent back some heart emojis of her own.

There were ten more minutes left on her break, so she opened Facebook and started scrolling. It seemed like all of her friends were on their second babies, some on their third, and she found herself rolling her eyes at the endless stream of kids and toys and parenting tips. 

And there, between a post George had commented on (some engagement pictures of a couple she’d never met), and Lucy Knox’s reposted cooking video, was an album of photos that made her stop in her tracks, exit Facebook, and bring up her husband’s contact information.

He answered on the second ring. “Martha? Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replied. “I’m on break. I was just on Facebook; have you seen Alex today?”

“Our Alex?” he asked. “No, he has the morning off. What’s wrong?”

“It’s none of our business,” she said, “well, except for the fact that he put it all over Facebook. I’m just warning you, George, things are about to get nasty over there.”

“What did he do?”

“I’ll send you the link,” she said, and blew a kiss over the phone. “I love you, babe. Have a good day. Protect our boys.”

  


_I met with her more than once over the last couple of weeks, most of the time at Connexion de Amour, with his consent..._

  
“I’m going to kill him,” Angelica muttered. That’s all she’d been doing that morning, pacing and muttering, muttering and pacing. “I’m going to wring his damn neck. Set him on fire in the middle of the city. Throw him to the fucking _moon_ \--”

“You know that’s impossible, right?” Peggy asked, entering Angelica’s room without permission and flopping on her bed. “Not, like, the fire, or the strangling, but the moon thing. That’s impossible.”

Angelica threw a pointed finger in her youngest sister’s direction. “ _You’re next._ ”

Peggy flipped her off. “So who is it this time? The recipient of Angelica Schuyler’s Rage, all capitalized, trademark symbol?”

“Thomas _fucking_ Jefferson.” Angelica threw herself onto the bed next to Peggy, knocking off a few pillows with her feet. “Did I tell you what he did yesterday?”

“Uh, besides what he does every day? The purple coat, the starting fires at Libertwo, the terrible dancing…”

“He ran into our _parents_ yesterday.”

Peggy turned. “Our parents.”

“Yep.”

“Philip and Catharine Schuyler.”

“The very same.”

“What did he _do?_ ” Peggy’s eyes got even wider, if that was even possible. “What did he say?”

“He ruined my damn life, that’s what he did.” Angelica flipped onto her back. “Talking about me and him and James, like we’re all dating, which we _are_ , but they don’t need to know that! I was planning on easing them into it, you know, slowly--”

“As you do,” Peggy said.

“And mom left me seven voicemails this morning,” Angelica finished, staring up at the ceiling. “ _Seven_ , Peg. This is exactly how I never wanted this to go.”

Peggy laughed, and Angelica felt her dig in her pocket for her phone. She sat up and grabbed at her hand, but she was too late. She fell back down as Peggy entered her password.

“Well, let’s hear exactly how mom feels about Thomas Jefferson,” she said, cackling. “Ew, Ang, you had _Facebook_ open? What is this, five years ago?”

“I was just scrolling,” Angelica said, defensive. “Did you know Caleb and Ben got engaged?”

“Who?”

“Nevermind.”

Peggy was silent for a few heartbeats, until…

“Holy fuck.”

Angelica turned onto her stomach. “What is it?”

“Do you know a Maria Lewis?”

“Yeah,” Angelica said. “I met her yesterday, actually. You were too busy sucking face with Herc Mulligan, but me and Eliza and Theo hung out with her at Libertea. Why?”

“This is why.” Peggy held out her phone, and Angelica took it, flipping through photo after photo of Alex intertwined with Maria, kissing at a club, dancing together, arms wrapped behind necks and lips all over each other. She read the accompanying message until she couldn’t anymore, stared at the pictures until her vision blurred.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Peggy quirked an eyebrow.

“You still talking about Jefferson?”

  


_I gave him one hundred dollars every two weeks to pay for his silence…_

  
Eliza shifted in her seat. She was taking up one of the comfortable leather chairs in the corner of Libertea; sitting cross-legged with her laptop on her lap, editing some pictures she’d taken during her and her sisters’ holiday party. She’d been in the shop since opening, ignoring the softly falling snow outside, hiding underneath her noise-cancelling headphones, and nursing the apple cinnamon tea Herc had brewed for her.

She clicked to the next picture, one of Jefferson and Theo and Adrienne, all sitting together on the same armchair somehow, a tangle of limbs and hair and brilliant grins. She saved it without editing, like she had with the last twenty. There were some things that didn’t need touched up.

Uncrossing her legs, she lifted her arms into the air and stretched and yawned. She’d been at it for about an hour; it was time for a break.

As she opened Facebook, she turned on the playlist Alex had made for her Christmas present, a loud mix of Kimbra and One Direction and Usher. It was her pump-up mix, it was what she listened to whenever she needed a quick good mood fix.

But, as she scrolled down her news feed and hit a photo album posted at three in the morning, she felt her mood hit rock bottom.

“Oh, Alex,” she whispered to herself, tracing the outline of his photographed face with her eyes. “What did you do?”

  


_...but I can’t continue to let this lie ruin my life and the lives of people I care about…_

  
Herc absentmindedly scrolled down his Facebook page as he chewed on a cookie, one of three others sitting on a napkin beside him on the counter. Lafayette was across the kitchen, spatula in hand, sliding freshly baked cookies from the oven to the cooling rack. The shop was slow for a Saturday morning; most people were at home, hiding from the snow like normal people. Herc himself had _definitely_ not wanted to get out of bed that morning.

“Hey, du Motier, what are the chances we get out early today?” he asked, scrolling past wedding announcements and speaking around another mouthful of cookie. “I can text Alex whenever and have him preheat the oven. We can be home baking cookies _there_ in no time flat.”

Lafayette laughed from his place at the cluttered table. He had been working since five that morning; cleaning pans and bowls and utensils that had been soaking in Libertea’s sink since the previous night. If Herc needed to guess, he’d say that his roommate had started stress-baking around six thirty. 

“I’m not kidding, Laf, we could go home if you want to shut the place down. Just text Washington that no one’s here except Eliza, and we can…” He trailed off, still looking at the phone in his grip. He’d just thumbed past a cluster of photos, but, as Lafayette looked at him, concerned, in the background, he quickly scrolled up again.

The pictures were of Alex. Twined with a girl, dancing with her, _kissing_ her.

“Uh, Laf, I think you should see this.”

Herc jumped down from the counter, crossing the kitchen in two quick strides and shoving his phone under Lafayette’s nose. He, like Herc had, swiped through picture after picture, his brown eyes getting darker until they were absolutely furious.

The spatula clattered to the ground as he took the phone in his own hands.

“ _Mon dieu…_ ”

Herc snatched his phone back and pulled Lafayette around the table, ignoring his indignant yell. He practically threw him towards the kitchen’s serving window, ducking down after him.

Lafayette jerked his arm away. “Hercules Mulligan, what the God damned…” 

“Shh,” Herc hissed. He pointed up at the window, presumably at the one other person working in the shop with them. Lafayette’s eyes widened.

“ _John._ "

  


_...I hope that publicly coming clean about this is enough to clear my conscience and, hopefully, I can regain any trust that has been lost.”_

  
John stared down at his phone, at photos he had no idea existed, of Alex with a girl, dancing with her, kissing her. Photos that he’d posted online where anyone and everyone could see them. See _him_.

_Cheating_. 

He took a deep, shuddering breath and clenched his fingers into fists. One second he’d been behind Libertea’s front counter, wiping down the bar and humming some old Ke$ha song that had been in his head all morning, and the next second he’d been cheated on.

_Alex Hamilton cheated on me._

His phone was still laying on the counter, the screen bright and taunting, the girl in her red dress and Alex with her lipstick all over the bottom half of his face, blatant evidence that John wasn’t good enough, had never been good enough…

He grabbed the first thing his fingers brushed against, an empty steel carafe that usually held creamer, and smashed the heavy metal bottom onto his phone screen.

It shattered. He hit it again.

And again, and again, until his phone was in smithereens on Libertea’s bar and he was on the floor, curled over his knees, tears streaming down his face.

  


_-Alex Hamilton_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: The aftermath.
> 
> NOTE #1: It's my birthday! This was one of the chapters I was anticipating to write the most; the different POVs for the Reynolds affair has been something I wanted to do in this fic since I started, and it's just great timing that I get to post this chapter today.
> 
> NOTE #2: I'm going to be gone for the next week, so the next chapter is postponed until two Sundays from now (September 4th), so I don't have to stress about it on my trip, and so I can make it the best it can be for y'all! See you on the 4th ♥ 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com! The hashtag on all social media is #SOLTEA, and yes, I do track it!
> 
> -Gab


	27. This Is The Eye Of The Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Libertwo employees try to help Alex talk to John as Herc and Lafayette run interference.

Alex paced the apartment. 

Kitchen, around the island, skirt the table, through the living room, around the couch, back into the kitchen. His phone weighed heavy in his pocket, his fingers restlessly raked through his loose hair, darted in and out of his sweatshirt sleeves, scratched at his nose, played with the strings hanging out of his hood. 

He’d blocked notifications on his Facebook post; the one of him and Maria Lewis. He couldn’t even think about it without his breath coming in short bursts, without his vision going blurry, without his hands starting to shake. 

_\--red lipstick and the sparkling ceiling of Connexion de Amour and Libertea’s rattling espresso machine and freckled hands and dark eyes and flowing partially-braided hair and cat claws on his legs and lips on his lips and Maria and Alex and John and John and JOHN--_

He stopped, planted his hands on the island, and forced himself to breathe.

In a half hour he was supposed to be at work. In a half hour he was supposed to face John Laurens; him, a cheater, and John Laurens, who he loved. He didn't even know what John would say, he didn't know what _he_ would say. 

His phone sat like a rock in his pocket. He didn't dare look at it. 

He’d gotten one text after he’d put up the pictures, and he only needed to see the contact name flash across his screen ( _Maria Lewis_ ) before he turned off vibration and ringer and everything short of the entire phone itself and banished it to his pocket.

He didn’t know what to do. He’d already tried to choke down some breakfast, but even Lafayette’s homemade bread and some of Mrs. Ross’s preserves didn’t taste like they should. He’d taken a few laps around the apartment, pacing. He’d fed Georges, but even the cat was avoiding him, shying away more than usual, not hissing even once.

There was only one thing he could do. He pulled on his green jacket and tugged his black winter coat on overtop, jammed his feet into his ratty Converse, and walked to Libertwo. His feet carried him right past Liberta’s big bay window, and he ducked his head, hiding behind his collar. Even thinking about the confrontation waiting for him behind the wooden door of the shop he called home was enough to coil his stomach into even tighter knots, and he knew if he caught even a glimpse of Lafayette’s ponytail or Herc’s bright embroidered apron or, God forbid, John, he'd run and run and run and never come back. 

He still had to convince himself that it wasn't a good idea. He wavered between two extremes: fight (would John punch him? Scream at him? Cry? God, the thought of John with tears running down his face, tears that Alex _caused_ \--) and flight (book a plane ticket with the remainder of the money in his bank account, grab a few of his books and the socks Herc had knitted for him a few weeks prior and John’s favorite headband and just get the hell out).

His feet chose flight for him, and he ended up just a few blocks away, on Libertwo’s doorstep.

One glance inside told him he was safe, for now. Washington wasn’t there, and the only ones behind the counter were Jefferson and Burr; Burr was reading a book, perched on a stool, and Jefferson was picking pieces off of a cookie on a napkin, leaning up against the bar with his back to the door.

The rest of the shop was empty, but it was still snowing outside and that was to be expected.

“Anyone ever tell you that cookies aren’t a good breakfast?” Alex asked, ducking into the shop like he belonged, dropping his bag on the floor and kicking it under one of the bar stools. 

“Oh my God, Alex just walked through the door,” Jefferson said, throwing his cookie back onto the bar, and spinning around to face him. “Get out here!”

“Who are you talking to?” Alex asked. “Burr’s right there.”

“Not me.” Burr slid his bookmark into place, and returned the book to the waiting space in the messenger bag next to his feet. He nodded to Jefferson’s left and Alex’s right, where a phone was plugged into the wall. Jefferson tapped it once, and Madison’s contact info, along with a badly lit selfie, flashed briefly onto the screen before he ended the call. Madison himself ducked out of the kitchen, one oven mitt on and flour on his nose, as Burr rolled his eyes. 

“Imagine being on the phone with someone when there's only one wall separating the two of you. Even me and Theo aren’t that disgusting.”

“Gross,” Alex agreed, not mentioning how Burr had visibly brightened as soon as he said Theodosia’s name, settling onto the stool and into the easy rhythm of meaningless banter. Burr rearranged his bag, took his book back out, and threw a response back to Alex as Madison stole a piece of Jefferson’s cookie and Jefferson briefly pressed his lips on the arch of his eyebrow. The three Libertwo employees looked just at home behind their counter as Alex felt at Libertea; there was a stack of scrawled-on notebooks hanging out on top of the espresso machine, a loud, printed scarf that was undoubtedly Jefferson’s draped around one of the stacks of hot cups, and Burr, comfortable enough in his workplace to lean against the wall while he read his book. 

They looked happy. They’d made a home as quickly and efficiently as Alex had a few blocks away, and he felt his heart ache, a sharp, stabbing pain that faded as fast as it came but never fully disappeared.

“So,” Jefferson said, settling back down with his arms crossed on the counter. Madison leaned next to him, their shoulders brushing, as he finished the cookie. “I was going to ask why you’re here and not at your own place, but I think we all know…”

“Be quiet, Thomas.” Madison looked over at him, eyebrows drawn in disapproval. “Remember the last time we got involved? No more.”

Burr, under the guise of getting better reading light but fooling no one, had been scooting his stool closer and closer to the group.

“It’s okay,” Alex replied. “I’m avoiding Libertea. Avoiding John, but, yeah. You guys know all about that.”

“Everyone does,” Jefferson said, despite Madison bristling next to him. “You put it on the internet.”

“I know I did--”

“Okay, I have to ask.” Burr bookmarked his spot and finally joined the conversation, raising one eyebrow as he looked over the counter at Alex. “Did you really think that was the best way to go about having that conversation with John?”

“I wasn’t _thinking_ \--”

“Makes sense,” Madison muttered, and promptly looked furious with himself for getting swept up in the dialogue. 

“I thought it was the best way to go about it,” Alex continued, defending himself. “I wanted to put everything out there, to air it all out at once--”

“Why didn’t you ask someone?” Burr looked as furious as Alex had ever seen him, still sitting on his stool with thunderous resentment burning right under the surface of his still placid expression. “You know I would have helped you, Alex. You think I haven’t dealt with this? Remember Prevost? Theo and I handled it wrong, but not nearly as mind-shittingly _bad_ as--”

He stopped. Took a breath. Composed himself. Alex could feel himself sitting, mouth open in shock, but he couldn’t do anything but stare at Burr, who’s chest was actually heaving with effort.

Jefferson made a face. “ _Mind-shittingly?_ ”

Burr pursed his lips like he’d taken a big bite out of a lemon and was rethinking his entire life. “You know what I mean.”

“You made a mistake,” Madison said, leaning around Jefferson, who was in the middle of a spiteful face-pulling contest with Burr. “And you made it worse. You need to go talk to him.”

“Burr?” Alex asked. He knew Madison wasn’t talking about Burr.

“He’ll forgive you,” Madison went on. “Or he won’t. But you still need to do it.”

Alex leaned his elbows onto the bar. He couldn’t stand the swirl of emotions inside his head, the hurricane of anguish and regret and cold, hard _pain_ , pain that he hadn’t felt since the death of his mom in the Caribbean, pain that he wished he’d never feel again, actively _worked_ towards never feeling again.

This time it wasn’t a freak accident. It wasn’t brought on by sickness. He’d done it to himself.

“It’s my fault,” he said quietly. Jefferson quirked his omniscient eyebrow. 

“Duh.”

Madison elbowed him hard enough to make him stumble back. “Alex, I don’t know you well enough for this. I don’t know _John_ well enough for this. But when something’s my fault, I do my best to fix it, any way possible.”

“It’s true,” Jefferson interrupted. “He’s sweet like that.”

Madison shot him a glare that would be better served between mortal enemies, not boyfriends. “What Thomas is trying to say is that we’re sorry for getting in the middle of your life, but now that we’re here, our advice is this. _Talk to him_.”

He jabbed Jefferson again, who rolled his eyes.

“We believe in you.”

“And you’re getting your chance,” Burr said from his corner. He’d composed himself further and was looking at his phone with a far more normal nonchalant expression. “Washington wants us to close and head over to Libertea; Lafayette’s doing a deep clean of the kitchen and needs all hands on deck.”

He scanned the empty shop. “I can’t wait until all this snow goes back to where it came from.”

Jefferson grinned, a blur of sarcasm and sharp teeth that Alex actually felt at home around, it felt _normal_ , and, for a wild second, he wanted to hug him. _Thomas Jefferson_ of all people. 

“The sky?”

Burr rolled his eyes. “ _Hell._ ”

They closed Libertwo with Alex’s help, the four of them working in silence as he tried to work out what he was going to say to John. Various opening lines, all of them apologies, all of them ending with him crying in some shape or form, ran through his mind as Burr locked the door and Jefferson led them across the street to the parking garage. Burr kept on giving him short, furtive glances as they walked, glances he remembered giving Burr just months prior, after he’d told Alex he was helping Theo cheat on James Prevost.

Now, with the situations flipped --Burr, engaged, Alex, an idiot-- Alex wished he’d handled Burr’s situation better. He wished he’d had some solid advice, been a better friend. 

“I don’t deserve anything I have,” he muttered, half hoping Burr would hear, as they climbed stairs to the garage’s third floor. “You guys. John. The Washingtons. I fuck everything up.”

“We’re all fuckups, Hamilton.” Burr had his hands in his pockets and was staring resolutely ahead. “We all don’t post photo evidence of our fuckups online--”

Alex actually cracked a smile at that; the left side of his mouth twitched upwards in a quick movement that surprised even himself as Burr huffed out a small laugh, his breath clouding in front of his nose.

“--but everyone’s done bad shit.” His eyes became very serious very fast as he looked Alex up and down as they walked. “If you were switched, if John had made out with a cute guy in some club and posted pictures on Facebook for you to find, would you be able to forgive him?”

Alex was quiet. They reached the Espada and Jefferson popped the trunk, throwing Madison’s backpack inside and moving so Burr could put his messenger bag next to it. They piled in; Jefferson driving, Madison in the passenger seat, Burr and Alex shoulder-to-shoulder in the cramped back seat. With Madison beside him, anxiously clenching his fingers into fists and whispering _”slower... slower…”_ , Jefferson inched out of the garage and onto the snow-covered streets.

As they made their way to Libertea, Alex put himself in John’s shoes. The dark club, alcohol swirled with judgement, hands everywhere, hot breath and soft lips. How he would feel, logging onto Facebook one morning, to find pictures of John, out of breath, sweaty, twined with a stranger. 

No verbal explanation from the man he loved, just questions, and fury, and overwhelming anguish. 

_Helpless._

“I don’t think I could,” he said, his voice soft, and Burr glanced over. 

“For your sake, let’s hope John Laurens is a better man than you.”

•••

The first thing Alex saw was the top of John’s curly, hairnet-covered head, bobbing almost level with the counter as he cleaned the shelves underneath the heavy wooden bar. He almost left right then and there, but Burr’s hand, firmly on the small of his back, propelled him forward. Washington had a mop in one corner, Peggy Schuyler was by the tea wall with Herc, rags in hand, and Alex caught glimpses through the serving window of Lafayette in the kitchen. The _CLOSED_ sign was facing the outside world, and Nicki Minaj was playing from Herc’s speakers.

“Morning,” Jefferson said, announcing the four of them, sweeping into the shop like nothing was wrong, throwing his coat onto the rack with a flourish. Alex had another urge to hug him, or at least buy him a drink the next time they went out. He made a mental note. _Jefferson’s acting like a jackass, which means he’s acting like everything’s normal. He’s the only one to do so, and, for that, he deserves alcohol._ “What do y’all want me to do? I’m mean with a Swiffer, but don’t ask me to do dishes.”

“I can take over that,” Madison said, holding out his hand to accept the mop from Washington, who also handed Jefferson a broom. They went to work, Jefferson sweeping the dirt into small piles and Madison following with his mop. Alex moved further into the shop as Burr joined Herc and Peggy by the wall.

He stepped gingerly around the empty pastry display. Someone had cleaned it already, there was a half-used roll of paper towels and a bottle of spray still sitting on the bottom shelf. John was squatting behind the counter, scrubbing a shelf with the rough side of a sponge, the shelf’s contents (an old legal pad, a bunch of extra hot cups, pens and pencils) scattered around his feet. Alex got a beautiful glimpse of him bobbing his head to the beat of whatever was playing through his headphones before he turned.

Their eyes met, and Alex felt whatever semblance of normal he’d built over the last few hours shatter into a thousand pieces.

John’s eyes, rimmed with skin as bright and jarring as if he’d painted it with blood, were shot through with jagged lines and shiny with unshed tears. His nose, nostrils flared, immediately on defense, was red and cracked and peeling. He bared his teeth, about to say something, and right as Alex braced himself, he turned away.

He gripped his sponge until Alex could see the white bone through the skin on his knuckles, his freckles stark and visible, sentinels on mountains, watching for the enemy.

Alex shifted in his battle stance and threw his first volley.

“John?”

His grip tightened and Alex knew he’d heard, even through whatever music he had playing. He tried again.

“Can we talk? I mean, like, somewhere private?”

John stood, snapped to attention so quick it was startling, and moved to the espresso machine with practiced efficiency. It already looked clean enough to Alex, but John was never satisfied, sometimes spending hours bent over it while Alex cracked jokes and kept him entertained.

He always went to Libertea when he was frustrated, sometimes even late at night, and deep cleaned the espresso machine. He told Alex once that it kept him grounded, the hum and rattle of the ornery piece of equipment that no one but him could tame reminded him where he belonged.

Alex wondered what he was thinking now, crouched on one side of the espresso machine, moving his sponge in wide, vicious circles, refusing to meet Alex’s gaze.

“John,” Alex said, moving closer, “if we just--”

“ _Mon ami_.” Lafayette caught his arm and pulled him back, away from John. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Laf,” Alex said, moving and dodging as Lafayette planted himself firmly between him and the espresso machine. He didn’t look angry, but he definitely didn’t look happy to see Alex, either. His expression was flat and blank, a look that Alex had never seen on his face before, and a look that didn’t fit. “I just need to talk to John, I need to apologize--”

“You need to get back into the kitchen and help me wash the oven,” Lafayette said. It wasn’t a negotiation. “I need someone small enough to reach the back.”

“Get Peggy to do it,” Alex said, still trying to get to John. “I have to--”

Lafayette put one hand on Alex’s shoulder and shoved, hard enough to send him stumbling back one, two, three steps. 

“I think you forget, _beau gosse_ , who the boss is around here.” He pointed. “Get your ass in that kitchen before I give it to you on a plate.”

“That’s not an expression,” Alex muttered, moving past Burr and Madison on his way to the kitchen. He got one last glimpse of John, still clutching the sponge, Lafayette’s hand on his shoulder, before the door swung shut behind him. 

The following hour was more of the same. He’d finish one task and leave, to talk to John, to explain if he could, and _definitely_ to apologize, but either Lafayette or Herc would block him. Herc had him with Peggy for twenty minutes, cleaning empty tins while she glared at him (possibly planning his death, he was too afraid to talk to her), and as soon as he finished and tried to go back to the espresso machine, Lafayette hooked him by the arm and had him back in the kitchen, elbow deep in the burners with a scraper.

John hadn’t looked at him once.

After forty-five minutes cleaning the second microwave, Alex ducked back into the main shop, immediately on the lookout for John, but he was nowhere to be found. His phone pinged.

**Asshole Supreme**

TJ: gwash let him go home

TJ: ://

AH: i just want to talk to him.

AH: this is the fucking worst day of my life

TJ: remind me to tell u the story about the great jemmy mads and airport security this one time

TJ: it has nothing to do w/ur life but it’s hilarious

TJ: mind shittingly hilarious as our dumbass friend aaron burr might say

TJ: wtf the fuck is wrong w him??

Five minutes later (Alex was scrubbing a particularly tough stain on the counter), Lafayette and Herc left, too, throwing salutes across the shop to Washington before they walked out the door. As soon as the bells stopped ringing, Alex ducked around the counter, grabbing his coat as he turned.

“Where do you think you're going?” Burr called from across the shop. 

“Uh,” Alex said, not even looking at Burr as he pulled his coat on, “home? Herc and Laf just left and I need to go talk to--”

“Son.” Washington stepped right in front of him, effectively blocking his path to the door. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

Alex threw his hands into the air. “Are you _fucking_ kidding me--”

“Alexander…” Burr said. A warning. 

“They seriously have you helping them, too?” Alex continued, glaring at Washington, something he never thought he’d do. “You don’t need to run interference, sir, I just need to talk to John!”

Washington drew himself up to his full height, towering over Alex, glaring his own glare that had a similar effect on Alex that salt had on slugs. “Mr. Hamilton, don’t ever tell me what I need to do, especially in relation to my employees.”

“I didn’t mean--”

Washington held up a hand. “I’ve known John Laurens ever since he was a teenager with braces. I watched him grow up, son, and you’d do well to remember how I treat those who try and mess with my family.”

Alex took a step back, his mouth still open, shock making his words useless. Washington closed his eyes briefly, he didn’t look angry, just full of regret.

“Get back to work, Alexander.”

Jefferson tossed him a rag and the two of them moved to the main window, Alex almost trembling with everything pent up inside him and Jefferson calm, easy, relaxed, telling him story after story of the times he and Madison had flown to New York from Virginia. The stories were ridiculous (somehow the strangest things always happened when the two of them traveled together, or maybe it was just Jefferson, his personality attracting the things good stories were made of), but they were exactly what Alex needed. They kept his mind off of what he needed to do until the windows were cleaned and the floor was mopped and the lightbulbs were changed and Washington dismissed them for the day.

He accepted Madison’s offer for a ride home, and, after dropping Burr off at his own apartment, headed home with the two Virginians. They kept up the stream of breezy small talk, how Jefferson was avoiding the eye doctor because he knew he needed new glasses (he denied it, Madison was adamant about it), how Madison had icing in their fridge and he was pretty sure Angelica was sneaking spoonfuls, how they were having dinner with the Schuylers over the weekend and Jefferson was a ball of nerves.

They left Alex outside of his apartment door with a bag of cookies from Libertwo and a piece of advice from each of them.

“Be sincere, apologize. You love him, he loves you. Remember that.” Madison.

“Wait, here… Let me grab one more cookie before you eat ‘em all. Okay. Thanks.” Jefferson.

He unlocked the door as they left, walking back down the hall, and slipped inside the apartment, hanging his key off of the rack John had put up by the door. Herc and Lafayette were there, standing by the island, both of their arms crossed like they’d been waiting. Alex couldn’t see John anywhere.

“You have to let me talk to him,” Alex started. Lafayette took a step forward.

“What were you thinking?”

Alex held out his hands, placating, submissive. “I know I did something shitty, but I--”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Herc thundered, his eyes blazing. “This isn’t about _you_ , Alexander goddamn Hamilton, it’s about one of my best friends getting his heart ripped out of his chest in front of the entire world, you jackass, it’s about John Laurens, who cried his eyes out this morning because of _you_ \--”

Lafayette laid on hand on Herc’s heaving shoulder and fixed Alex with a cold look.

“What are you going to say to him?”

“John?” Alex asked, still taken aback by Herc’s raised voice and the anger in his eyes. Lafayette glared. Of course it was John. “Um, I’m going to apologize, tell him I never meant to hurt him--”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Herc spat out.

“I’m going to tell him I love him and I want to make it right, any way I can.”

Lafayette narrowed his eyes, lifted his chin, and Alex swore the temperature in the room dropped by twenty degrees.

“You broke his heart.”

The weight of the entire world, wrapped up in four words, landed on Alex’s shoulders. He curled forward, swiping at the hair that fell in front of his eyes, and sobbed, a strangled sound that ripped out of his throat, merciless.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but it was useless. The tears came, and they came hot and thick and fast, dripping down his face and puddling onto the floor and blinding him.

He heard Herc yell.

“You broke his heart!”

Alex took a huge, shuddering breath in and yelled back with everything he had in him.

“ _I KNOW!_ ”

He pushed past both of them, swiping at tears with both hands, and ran down the hall towards John’s room. He needed to see John, needed to look him in the face and beg for one word, beg for two seconds of eye contact, beg for anything he could get.

He burst into John’s room and, for a heartbeat, he was sure he was in the wrong apartment. The bed was still there, the two stacked mattresses that always lacked proper sheets, but John’s blankets were gone. The dresser was ransacked, empty drawers hanging out of their sockets. Trash and crumpled up clothing littered the floor, but everything of John’s was gone. 

The stack of sketchbooks he used as a makeshift nightstand? Gone.

The pile of boxers he kept by the closet, for easy differentiating between clean and dirty? Gone.

The big container of mouthwash he always kept on his dresser so Herc wouldn’t use it all? Gone.

Alex spun around to face his other roommates, his cheeks still wet, his hair most likely wild.

“Where’s John? Where’d he go?”

Herc crossed his arms across his broad chest, glaring a glare so vicious that it could’ve cut Alex in half, as Lafayette looked on in disdain. Alex’s heart was beating a mile a minute; he was surprised that it didn’t burst out of his chest to go skittering across the empty floorboards.

“John left,” Lafayette said, his voice flat and cold as ice. “He moved out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Rewind............
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans (and heartbreak?? tbh), and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com! The hashtag on all social media is #SOLTEA, and yes, I do track it!
> 
> -Gab


	28. Every Part Aflame, This Is Not A Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewind.......

While Alex Hamilton was pacing the floor in the apartment, John Laurens was on his hands and knees behind Libertea’s counter, searching for pieces of his phone. They'd scattered everywhere, and he needed to make sure none of them had fallen into the open bins of beans lined up on a bench right next to the bar; he needed to start grinding coffee and it wouldn't be great if he accidentally blended parts of his smashed phone in with the beans. 

He was having trouble finding the parts, though, between his blurry, tear-filled vision and the fact he couldn't stop himself from letting out a chest-rattling sob every two seconds, it was a little difficult to focus on a broken phone. John couldn't remember the last time he cried this hard. 

(That was a lie. He'd taken a train to New York the night his dad kicked him out and the only thing he remembered from that trip was him, hunched over in his seat (thankfully the seat next to him was empty), and doing his best not to scream. The screams had come out in tears instead, and, after a while of using the hem of his shirt as a makeshift Kleenex, the woman behind him had pity on him and gave him a whole box.)

That box of tissues was the first gift New York ever gave him. That gift meant freedom from his terror of a family, a new start, a fresh page. That gift made him stop crying.

The second gift was a job, an apartment, friends. Sons of Libertea and George Washington meant the ability to stand on his own two feet, to pay his bills, to go out with his new crew, his squad, his _family_ and have a good time. That gift made him believe he could do anything.

The third gift was Alexander Hamilton.

That gift made him look towards the future with hope, something he hadn’t done in South Carolina, or New York, or anywhere.

He sniffled again, mentally cussing out the tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. He knew the shop was mostly empty, but he also knew that Eliza Schuyler was in the back corner with her laptop, and he knew she was hooked up to their WiFi, and he knew she was friends with Alex on Facebook. Who _wasn’t_ friends with Alex on Facebook? Who _didn’t_ know the intricacies of their relationship now?

How many people were discussing, how many people were gossiping, how many people _knew--_

Feet approached him and soft voices mingled together as they got closer. He didn’t look to see who it was. He knew who it was. 

“Hey, hey, John, it’s all right...” 

John kept his knees and palms firmly planted on the shop’s floor, and stayed silent as he let himself get engulfed in both Lafayette and Herc’s arms. They didn’t wait to hug him one at a time, but piled onto the floor with him, a tangle of arms wrapped around his waist and shoulders, Lafayette’s chin resting into the top of his bun, Herc’s nose pressed to the left side of his face.

“Now I know y’all go on Facebook at work,” John muttered from the center of the huddle. Herc actually laughed at that, and Lafayette snorted.

“Not to be insensitive, _mon ami_ , but I doubt there’s a human soul in this entire city who hasn’t heard about--”

Lafayette choked to a halt, and John had no doubt in his mind that Herc had punched him.

“I’m going to kill him, all right, Laurens?” Herc said, pushing Lafayette away and settling down on the floor next to John. “Take him to some back alley ‘cause he loves ‘em so much and just--”

He mimed wringing someone’s neck. John let out a strangled groan and leaned his cheek on Herc’s bicep, scooting closer to him as he slung an arm around his shoulders. Herc always made John feel safe; he was like the big brother, both in size and in age, that John had wanted but never had. He dealt with their landlord, and talked to people on the phone when John didn’t want to, and took the brunt of Washington’s frustration on a bad day at the shop. 

Herc ran one hand down the side of John’s head, flattening his curls in a gesture he probably thought was comforting. John leaned into it anyway. 

“What do I do?” 

“Besides letting me at him?” Herc answered, grunting and shifting over so that Lafayette could get on John’s other side, effectively sandwiching him. “I don’t know, John. What do you want to do?”

“Punch him.”

Lafayette snickered. “So you want to kill him?”

John moved closer to Lafayette. His soft French and kind eyes and indomitable sense of self always made John feel bold. John always told himself that if Lafayette could come from France and make a home in America, he could do whatever stupid thing he was having a difficult time doing. 

“I said _punch_ , Laf, not murder.”

“Have you _seen_ Alex Hamilton? He’d die.”

Despite himself, that’s when John laughed, too. He also declined to respond that yes, he _had_ seen Alex Hamilton, he’d done a lot more than just _see_ Alex Hamilton, and apparently so had other people… And he was crying again.

“You gotta let me know,” Herc said in pauses between John’s shuddering sobs, “Are these sad tears or angry tears? ‘Cause it’s a little hard to tell.”

“Is it bad if-- if I don’t know?”

“Nah, _cherie_ , it’s probably better.” Lafayette leaned over and put his head into John’s lap, and, if only to give his hands something to do, John pulled his hairnet off and started carding his hands through Lafayette’s curls. Herc scooted towards the counter and snatched a tissue out of a box by the register, blotting John’s tears himself as he muttered something else about how Alex was most likely dead by the end of the day.

That, of course, did nothing but make more god damned water come out of John’s face.

•••

While Alex Hamilton was walking to Libertwo, John Laurens was still sitting on the floor. At his request, Lafayette was shuffling around on his hands and knees, looking for the remaining pieces of John’s phone, and Herc was taking the orders of the three strangers who had just entered the shop.

He wasn’t the only one on the floor, though. Eliza had abandoned her laptop and headphones by the window and had joined him, wedging herself between John and the metal side of the espresso machine. For a while they’d sat in silence, the only sounds being the whirr of the blender and the soft murmur of Lafayette singing in French as he tried to put John’s phone back together.

“I’m sorry,” Eliza said finally, rubbing one hand on John’s knee in small, comforting circles. She had a ring on, John noticed, on her right pointer finger. It was shaped like a tree, the silver wrought roots trailing towards her knuckle. It was pretty. It fit her.

“You didn’t do nothing,” John muttered, not bothering to fix his mistake. She was a Schuyler, sure, but he didn’t give a damn. She picked a fuzzy off of his jeans and flicked it towards Lafayette.

“I can still be sorry.” 

“I’m not sorry. Now I know what kind of person he is.”

She seemed to ponder this, twisting the ring to the left and to the right.

“Are you going to talk to him?”

“Today? Or, like, ever?”

“Today.”

“Fuck, no.” John leaned his head toward his knees, massaging the front of his forehead with his thumbs. He didn’t get migraines a lot, but he could feel the beginning of one writhing at the base of his neck. “I don’t know if you’ve ever gotten your heart ripped out, Eliza, but there’s not really a lot of energy for talking afterwards.”

She ran the same hand across his shoulders and he leaned closer to her. “He’s going to come here to talk, you know that, right?”

“Of course he is.” John said. If he knew anything about Alex Hamilton, a list that was getting shorter by the minute, he knew that once he decided he wanted to do something, he wouldn’t stop for anything. “And I’m not going to let him.”

Everybody knew that Alex was stubborn. Only a few people knew that, faced with stubbornness, John was _unshakable_.

(Washington called him opinionated in a way that John knew wasn’t always a good thing. Herc would call him unreasonable, unmanageable, and all sorts of other _un_ words. Lafayette would say _tête de taureau_ with a slight smile and a roll of his eyes. Alex Hamilton didn’t stand a chance.)

“Will you help me?” he asked, looking at Eliza first, and then to Lafayette when he looked over. “You know what he’s like. I can’t talk to him, you guys, not yet. I _can’t_ …”

His voice broke and he paused. Herc sent the customers on their way, cups of tea and scones in hand, and sat back down on the floor across from him and Eliza. 

“What do you want us to do?”

“I don’t know,” John said. Everything hurt. His head, his hands from smashing the phone, his heart most of all, a rending pain that he hadn’t felt in _so goddamn long_. “I don’t even want to look at him.”

“Then you won’t have to,” Lafayette said, moving to sit beside Herc with a handful of broken phone parts. It looked like he got all of them. “And this is deader than dead, _ami_. My plan’s up next week, though, and you can have mine then.”

“Thanks, man,” John murmured. Herc kicked his foot.

“If he comes here, we’re not going to let him get close to you. I promise, John. I’ll tackle him into a wall if it comes down to that.”

John snickered. “Maybe do that anyway.”

Eliza nudged his shoulder with hers. “There he is.”

“Oh my god,” John groaned, letting his head fall into his hands. “I’m so fucking pathetic. Who the hell gets cheated on? _Holy fucking shit--_ ”

They all crowded around him again; Eliza rubbed his back as the calming undertones of his roommates’ voices surrounded him, reminding him that they were there, that it wasn’t his fault, that they cared about him.

John almost couldn’t hear them over the ocean roar of his own mind, drowning out everything except for him, and Alex, and pictures of a girl in a fire red dress.

•••

While Alex Hamilton was talking to Jefferson, Madison, and Burr, John Laurens did his job. Libertea wasn’t busy, it hadn’t been for the past few days what with all of the snow New York had been hit with, but there was always something to do around the shop.

Eliza had gathered her things and left, giving John one last hug and promising her help if he needed anything. He had her number, she’d reminded him, and she was always willing to help.

He’d pressed his lips to the top of her head before she went on her way. Every time she looked at him he wanted to start crying again, not because she looked at him with pity, but because she cared. Eliza Schuyler cared _so much_ , and he had no idea if he deserved it.

Washington had met Eliza at the door, holding it open for her to slip past him with her purse and laptop after they’d exchanged pleasantries. He’d ignored everything else after that and headed straight for John, pulling him close in a bone-crushing hug.

“What do you need, son?”

Even within the vise of the hug, John managed to swipe at his eyes. “Nothin’, sir, I’m fine.”

“Bullshit, John, I’m serious.” Washington held him at arm's length, apprising him. “What can I do for you?”

“Fire Hamilton,” Herc called from the other side of the shop. John knew he was only half-joking.

“Aside from ruining Alexander’s life,” Washington revised, raising an eyebrow at Herc. “Do you need to stay with me and Martha for a few days? I can get all of her workout equipment out of our guest room in a heartbeat.”

John sniffed twice and wished he had a tissue. “I told you, George, I’m fuckin’ fine. Promise.”

“All right.” Washington gave him a blatantly disbelieving look. “The offer still stands. And if you need anything else, time off, whatever, I understand.”

“You’re not getting rid of your best barista that easily,” John said, and Washington hugged him again. He’d then explained that they were closing both shops early because of the snow and lack of business, but the Libertwo employees were coming to Libertea to help Lafayette and the rest of them clean. He’d brought two boxes of paper towels and other cleaning supplies, and John got to work doing what he did best, deep cleaning the espresso machine.

•••

While Alex Hamilton was riding to Libertea in Jefferson’s Espada, John Laurens had his headphones in, blasting music. He wasn’t even sure what he was listening to, he just knew the rapper was spitting lyrics at a hundred miles per hour and it was exactly what he needed.

He felt different than he had in the morning. Like he was wired tighter, like every muscle in his body was stretched and taut, waiting for something. Waiting for a fight that he had explicitly asked Herc and Lafayette to protect him from. Waiting for a fight that he wasn’t ready to have.

Every once in a while he had to rub his arm across his eyes to catch any stray tears, but he wasn’t sobbing anymore. He didn’t have the urge to kneel on the ground and scream into the floorboards anymore. He wasn’t sad, he was _angry_.

(He was still sad. The anger was just more accessible, easier to feel, less difficult to process.)

He turned up his music.

_...the subject seems upset by that to which he is subjected, but convinced he brought it on himself…_

Swiping at imaginary dirt with a rag, John clenched his fingers into fists and kept cleaning. The espresso machine was spotless, it always was, it was the material thing in the shop that John cared about the most. When he cared about things he kept them pristine, if he didn’t they might break, or rust, or leave.

In John’s personal experience, everything, eventually, even him, would leave.

He didn’t stay in South Carolina. He didn’t fight for his relationship with his mother, he didn’t fight for the room he lived in when he was a teenager (there was a _Welcome To The Black Parade_ poster on the left wall), didn’t fight for the tree in the backyard he used to climb (he broke his arm falling off a low branch when he was ten), didn’t fight for the car his dad had given to him when he turned sixteen (it was the most extravagant of a series of gifts begging him to conform).

He didn’t stay. He didn’t fight. He left.

“Is that what I’m going to do for the rest of my fucking life?” John muttered to himself, half-inside the espresso machine, working on a small rust spot he’d never seen before. “Just up and leave like a… I don’t know… Person who fucking leaves?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” he asked, continuing the dialogue underneath the running current of the rapper’s flow. “Forgive him? Fuck, he ripped my heart out and waved it around in front of the entire fucking world!”

Breathe in. “I can’t leave this time.”

Breathe out. “But I sure as hell can’t stay.”

•••

While Alex Hamilton was walking through Libertea’s front door, John Laurens was hiding. He’d turned his music down so that he could hear if anyone was trying to sneak up on him, and was crouched down behind the counter, reorganizing the sugar packets and bobbing his head to the beat.

He felt Alex next to him before he heard anything, and, before he could stop himself, he looked.

As soon as he met Alex’s gaze, Alex’s withdrawn, fight-or-flight brown eyes sweeping over John in barely a second, taking in his entire wrecked being in less time than it would take to apologize. John felt his lips draw back over his teeth, felt the biting _go to hell_ that his whole body wanted to deliver, but forced himself to draw back.

He turned away. Over the pounding bass, he heard Alex shift.

“John?”

The word was vulnerable, it was soft, almost an apology in it of itself, but John stood firm. He wrapped his fingers tighter around the sponge he was holding.

“Can we talk?” Alex continued. Of course he wanted to talk. If there was one thing Alex Hamilton could do, it was talk. “I mean, like, somewhere private.”

_Somewhere private where you can stomp on the heart you took from me?_ John answered in the privacy of his own head. _Or do you want to introduce me to your friend? The one who, you know, you cheated on me with?_

He forced himself to stand without looking over at Alex. After dipping the sponge in a blue bucket that Herc had filled for him, he moved over to the opposite side of the espresso machine and knelt again, swiping at the metal with his sponge. He refused to look up at Alex, refused to let him see the pain he knew would be in his gaze. He was never good at keeping his heart off of his sleeve.

“John,” Alex said, and John heard him take a step closer. “If we just--”

“ _Mon ami_ , I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

John breathed out, clouding the shiny metal. _Lafayette_. He listened as the two of them had a back-and-forth; Alex wanted to talk to John, and John knew that after his request for total seclusion there was no way in hell that Lafayette would let him.

He looked out of the corner of his eye, quick enough to catch a glimpse of Lafayette shoving Alex’s shoulder and ordering him back into the kitchen. As Alex retreated, muttering, Lafayette knelt down beside John.

“Doing all right, _râleur?_ ” he asked, rubbing a hand across his shoulders. “This isn’t going to be easy.”

“I know,” John replied. “ _Merci, mon ami_.”

Lafayette dropped a kiss on the top of John’s head, slipped his old phone into his hand, pushed the bucket towards him with his foot, and headed into the kitchen to, presumably, make Alex’s life hell. 

The next hour was a series of unfortunate Alex events. He kept ducking out of the kitchen and every time he did, John turned his back right as he saw Lafayette or Herc step in front of him. Herc forced him into the corner for about a half hour, cleaning tea tins with Peggy, and as soon as he was done Lafayette grabbed him and practically threw him back into the kitchen.

John didn’t look at him once.

After twenty more minutes polishing and repolishing the espresso machine, Washington approached him and dismissed him to go home if he wanted to. John definitely wanted to. He’d been thinking, thinking about staying and leaving, thinking about Alex, and thinking about himself, and he’d come to a very important decision.

“Thank you, sir,” he said to Washington, before grabbing his coat and waving goodbye to Herc and Peggy, still surrounded by tea in the back corner, and saluting towards Burr, Madison, and Jefferson by the window. He tried smiling, but he was pretty sure it came out as a grimace.

As he headed up the snowy street to the apartment, he opened the group text he had going with Lafayette and Herc. It hadn’t been used in months, they’d started a new one with Alex when he had moved in with them. He added Lafayette's new number and typed a quick message.

**The Squad™**

JL: i gotta get out of the apartment.

JL: i cant live there when hes there. but i cant ask him to leave

JL: all my stuffs gonna be gone when yall get home. dont freak otu

JL: ***out

GdM: I understand ami!! Text me if you need anything.

HM: love u bro.

JL: SORRY ABOUT THIS. i love both of you more than yall know

GdM: Don’t ever be sorry.

•••

While Alex Hamilton was washing windows with Thomas Jefferson, John Laurens was packing up everything he owned. Some of it went into boxes that he stacked in the closet, but the most important things went into his backpack and a duffel, the same duffel he’d left South Carolina with. It had his initials embroidered on the side. _JHL._

The other pair of shoes he used for work, his nice jeans, the few ties he owned, both of his blankets, a pile of socks and boxers he wasn’t sure were dirty or clean, all of his sketchbooks and pencils, the mug Lafayette had given him for his birthday the previous year, every shirt that had Hercules Mulligan stitching on it. 

After giving the apartment one final sweep (he grabbed his hairbrush, toothbrush, and one bottle of shampoo that he wasn’t sure was his or Lafayette’s out of the shower), blowing one kiss towards Georges, and throwing all of his stuff into the hallway, he stepped back into his room to get anything he missed.

And that’s when John looked up at his bulletin board and all of his ink drawings, pencil sketches, and half-finished artwork fluttering in the soft breeze from his oscillating fan. He took a deep breath and started unpinning, letting the thumbtacks fall, scattered, onto the floor.

•••

While Alex Hamilton was staring at an empty room, John Laurens was hiking his backpack farther up on his shoulders, slogging through the snow and slush piling up on the New York streets. He didn’t want to think about Alex, who had, no doubt, found out by now that John had left. He didn’t want to think about Herc and Lafayette, who were, no doubt, giving him the cold shoulder of a lifetime.

He kept his thoughts firmly on his wet feet, his freezing cold nose, and the address he had saved on Lafayette's old phone.

He turned up a different street. He’d only been here one other time, but he remembered it being homey. Nice, a little too fancy for his current lifestyle, but homey.

He’d texted her a half-hour prior, right before he started packing, and asked if he could crash on her couch for a couple of days. She _had_ said if he ever needed anything, and John Laurens was nothing if proficient at following up on people offering him things. 

And he couldn’t stay in the apartment. He couldn’t live in the same space as Alex Hamilton, couldn’t watch him go about daily life, couldn’t live with Herc and Lafayette glaring, couldn’t live with all of the god damned _tears_.

So he did the other thing John Laurens was proficient at, and left.

_Running away from your problems,_ John thought as he walked up the stairs to the Schuyler sisters’ apartment. _Like every other fucking time, eh, John?_

Before he could answer himself or knock, the door swung open, and Eliza Schuyler beamed at him. He could see Peggy in the background, organizing a stack of what looked like video games on the floor, and Angelica in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot. 

“Come in, come in! Welcome to the party, Mr. Laurens. Peggy already made up the couch and everything.”

She pulled him into a side hug and farther into her apartment.

“I’m sorry about this,” John said, “I really am. I’m just going through something pretty rough… I mean, y’all know that already... If I’m imposing--”

She waved her hand, cutting him off.

“Stay as long as you need to, John. I’m glad you’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: "I hope that you..."
> 
> NOTE: The lyric snip when John was listening to music was from clipping.'s song "All Black" from their new album _Splendor & Misery_! Buy it. Support it. Love it.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com! The hashtag on all social media is #SOLTEA, and yes, I do track it!
> 
> -Gab


	29. You Have Torn It All Apart (I'm Watching It Burn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza Schuyler's school of emotional release, now in session.
> 
> (Content warning for talk about abuse in the second half of this chapter.)

Eliza had put in a movie under the pretense that this was a normal Friday night hangout, but none of them were watching it. Peggy was flat on her stomach on the floor, elbows dug into a pillow and phone in hand, giving John sideways glances every three seconds. Angelica was less obvious, but even she flicked her gaze his way once or twice from the armchair she occupied. And John himself was burrowed in a blanket on their couch. She wasn’t sure what all he had under there, but she’d seen him take sips out of two different beer bottles and every once in a while he’d eat a handful of gummy worms.

(The beer was from Angelica, the worms from Peggy.)

Eliza was in the kitchen. She said she was doing dishes, but she was really doing one better than both of her sisters, and openly watching John. She’d been expecting him at their apartment (he _had_ texted her on Lafayette's old number), but it was still half a surprise when he showed up. 

She hadn't known John Laurens for very long, but she knew he was headstrong, loud, and a lot like her youngest sister. And if John Laurens was anything like Peggy Schuyler, asking someone else for help hadn't been easy. 

So she had been gentle with him. Let her sisters take care of the alcohol and the sugar while she made sure the couch was habitable for however long he wanted to stay. Let her sisters take care of the normal banter; Angelica pushing John around verbally while Peggy did it physically (at one point John had definitely ended up on the floor whether he intended to or not), while she watched, waited, on standby. Let her sisters take care of John in their own way while she lingered and stayed ready.

Peggy was good at distraction, pretending everything was fine until someone was ready to talk. Angelica was good with simple words, cutting to the heart of the issue with dexterity and precision. And Eliza was good with the cleanup after everything inevitably went to shit.

John was going to fall to pieces, and she was going to be there to pick him back up.

**Gilbert**

GdM: Thank you for taking care of him!!

ES: My pleasure. I’m serious!! I promise everything will be fine :)

GdM:I highly doubt that. Text me if you need anything, I mean it!

GdM: Both Hercules and I will be ready at a moment’s notice.

ES: How’s Alex?

GdM: I wouldn’t know.

Eliza tossed her phone onto the island. Of course Lafayette was mad, hell, _she_ was mad. But she also didn’t like the thought of Alex, guilt-wracked and distraught, roaming New York looking for John.

Not thinking about how much Lafayette would hate her, she pulled up his contact, dialed the number, and slipped into her bedroom without her sisters or John knowing.

He answered on the second ring.

“Liza?”

She bit her lip. He sounded like hell; raspy voice, phlegm-clogged lungs, tears catching in his throat. _He did this to himself, Schuyler. Be businesslike, tell him what you need to, and get off the fucking phone!_

“Alex, we have John. He’s at our apartment.”

The breath he let out was a breath of relief, a breath of a weight off of a set of shoulders, a breath of _I was worried sick and too numb to my own pain to do anything about it_. These boys. Eliza’s heart ached.

“Please, can I--” he began, but she cut him off.

“Don’t you dare show your face here, Alex,” she said, balancing on a thin, worrying line of commanding in words yet sensitive in tone. “You messed up, okay? And he’s in no shape or form to face you yet, let alone _forgive_ you, if that’s even what you want.”

“Of course that’s what I want--”

“Then you’ll give him some space.” She twisted a strand of hair around two fingers. “He’s wrecked, Alex. I hope you know what you did.”

On the other line, he sucked in a huge breath of air, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling and responding in the most dejected voice Eliza had ever heard.

“Of course I know.”

She bit her lip again, this time hard enough to draw blood. “I’m serious, Alexander. Stay away from here if you ever want to look him in the face again. He needs time.”

“Time.”

“ _Time_ ,” she repeated after him. “I know you want to talk, I know you think it’ll fix things, but it won’t. Not yet. He has a lot of anger, okay? And unless you want that coming out at you, all his pent up aggression… I’m upset with you, but I don’t want you in a hospital!”

Alex breathed out again. It was probably eating him up inside, knowing where John was and being unable, helpless, to do anything about it.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Eliza said, about to hang up, when he spoke again.

“Do you think he will?” he asked.

“Will what?”

“Forgive me.”

Eliza paused. Thought about the blanket lump in her living room that was currently John Laurens, joking with Angelica and ribbing Peggy and drinking their beer and insisting he was fine when there were red rings around his eyes and tear tracks trailing through the freckles on his cheeks and a strange, new fire burning deep in his brown eyes that Eliza had never seen before. John was heartbroken, Alex was an idiot, and if she was going to fix this, he needed to realize that.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “And it’s probably going to be the hardest work you’ve ever done.”

“I’m ready,” he said, his voice soft, and she knew he wasn’t telling the truth.

•••

**Hercules**

HM: i hear our runaways w/you

ES: Yep, I got him :)))

HM: its the best place for him to be tbh. tell your sisters i said thanks

ES: Will do. Aren’t you snapchatting Peggy right now though??

HM: besides the point

Eliza moved closer to John on the couch. He was still wrapped in the blanket, but Angelica had gone out to get Chinese food and supplied him with General Tso’s and crunchy noodles. They’d moved on to another movie, one of the Marvel superhero teamup ones that Peggy had picked, and John still hadn’t said a word about Alex.

Onscreen, Iron Man shot a laser at something as she scrutinized John. He coughed.

“You’re not being very subtle, ‘Liza.”

“I’m not trying to be,” she said. He quirked an eyebrow.

“Fair enough.” He took a big bite of chicken. “I’m not going to break, you know? You got your damn kid gloves on and everything.”

Eliza reached over to grab a piece of broccoli out of Peggy’s container. She was sitting on John’s opposite side, hands and mouth full of rangoons, and couldn’t retaliate.

“I’m not afraid of you _breaking_ ,” she replied around her broccoli. “I’m afraid of you not confronting your feelings. You can’t bottle this stuff up, John, you gotta let it out and let it go.”

“That sucks,” Peggy said loudly from somewhere to Eliza’s left. John pointed his fork at her.

“I’m with the youngest of y’all. Bottling it up’s worked pretty well for me so far.”

Eliza crossed her arms around a pillow. “Really.”

“I’m not kidding,” John said, shifting on the sofa, sitting up straighter and setting his container of food on the coffee table. “I’ve had some messed up shit happen to me, with my dad, the rest of my family, all that stuff. I don’t talk about it, okay? It happened and I move on.”

He got quiet then, and looked her right in the eyes. 

“Better things always come around.”

“So that means you’re just done?” Angelica asked from across the room, putting her food on the floor. This was it. Eliza sat upright and prepared herself for the storm. “Alex fucks up and you bury him and move on?”

“He _cheated on me_ , Angelica--”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“It happened _this morning!_ ”

Eliza didn’t know for sure where Peggy was. She was pretty sure she hadn’t left the couch, and there was a suspiciously Peggy-shaped blanket lump on the other end, but she couldn’t be sure her sister was actually there.

Angelica had gotten to her feet and started to pace like she tended to do while studying or planning birthday parties. She was a walker, and her usual route was around the couch, past the coffee table, by their front door, around the island in the kitchen, and back to where she started at the fireplace. 

(Eliza remembered one time, not two weeks prior, when she’d gotten a text from Thomas Jefferson. _Your sister’s pacing,_ it had read, _what the fuck am I supposed to do with her? She’s got James all spooked._ Eliza had laughed and left him to deal with it himself. A focused Angelica was no match for anyone.)

“What the fuck is going on?” John asked as Angelica completed a lap and started again. Eliza shrugged.

“She’s thinking.”

“About what?”

“You,” Angelica replied, passing the island. “And Alex Hamilton. Tell me this, Laurens, and don’t lie to me. Do you love him?”

“Do I--”

“Yes. Not _did_ you. Do you?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that,” John answered, furrowing his eyebrows. Eliza fought the urge to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. This was what Angelica wanted, a reaction, something to work off of. “Did you see what he did to me? And he didn’t even talk to me about it like a normal fucking person, he posted it online where anyone could see it, and now I know what an asshole person I picked to love--”

“So you love him?”

“I did,” he said, flustered, “I did, I told him that, and he said it back, and I _did_ love him and I _want_ to love him and I--”

“Do you love him?”

John shot up off the couch, ditching the blankets and surging upwards.

“I DON’T KNOW!”

Peggy unwrapped herself from the blankets on the other end of the couch, phone in hand. “Uh, so Mr. Morris, our upstairs neighbor, says we’re being too loud--”

“What’s it to you, anyway, Angelica?” John asked, throwing his fork onto the couch. Peggy rolled her eyes and retreated back behind her phone; despite her usually brash outlook on life, Eliza knew she, like John, preferred to stay far away from emotions and all they entailed. “Why do you fucking care about me and Alex and whether or not we love each other? You _want_ me to stay with a cheating jackass, is that it?”

Angelica arched a supremely nonchalant brow. “I thought we were friends, Laurens.”

(Eliza found it difficult to live with her sister sometimes; the unflappable, aloof attitude she conducted herself with was almost enough to drive her over the edge every once in a while. But in reality, she was something else. She was fierce and caring and harsh and _real_ , and watching her turn it on someone else for their own good, knowing they needed it, was beautiful.)

John was red in the face. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Angelica shrugged. “I care about you.”

One harsh, callous laugh ripped its way from John’s throat. “Oh, wow, the almighty Angelica Schuyler grants me, a village peasant, her blessing. Oh, happy fucking day. The Schuyler sisters _care_ about me. I can die happy now.”

Angelica stopped in her tracks and crossed her arms. “Stop with all the pity mongering, Laurens, it’s not working.”

“I don’t want _pity_ \--”

“Oh, boo hoo, my boyfriend cheated on me. Bad things happen and I _move on_. Shut the fuck up for once in your life, John.” Angelica wasn’t even looking at Eliza, but she could still feel the scorching heat from her gaze. “Lafayette and Hercules haven’t stopped texting my sister about you once. Washington gave _Peggy_ his phone number in case we needed to contact him. Thomas and James went out in the freezing cold to get us this food because James remembered you saying it was your favorite in the city.”

She gave John another world-shattering glare.

“People care about you. It’s not a fucking jigsaw puzzle or some riddle you need to figure out. So stop staring into your noodles and thinking you have the worst life in the world, because you didn’t hurt yourself. You didn’t do this to yourself!”

John had taken a few steps back until he was against the couch. His face was drained and his eyes were wide, and a single tear trailed its way down his cheek as his clenched fists trembled.

“It’s Alex’s fault.”

“Yeah,” Angelica said, like that was the conclusion she’d wanted him to come to, which, of course, it had been.

“He did this to me.”

“Uh-huh.”

More tears were coming now, making their quick and efficient way down John’s face and dripping onto his sweatshirt, his hands, the floor. He took a deep, shuddering breath in.

“Alexander Hamilton cheated on you,” Angelica said, her words holding no inflection, no malice, no anger. They were as flat and efficient as a pre-stamped envelope. “He kissed a girl named Maria Lewis, was blackmailed by the girl’s boyfriend, and posted those pictures online.”

She took a breath and continued.

“Alexander Hamilton cheated on you. You told him that you loved him and it didn’t stop him from doing these things. You are in a relationship and it didn’t stop him from doing these things. Whatever happened, is happening, or will happen does not erase what he did.”

“John?” Angelica asked, then. He looked up and met her eyes. “What am I saying to you?”

He was crying in earnest now, his nose red, his eyes bloodshot.

“Alexander Hamilton cheated on me.” 

Angelica stepped over the pile of Chinese food and blankets and wrapped her arms around John’s neck and he melted, pressing his nose into the crook of her neck and standing there, shoulders shaking, making muted sniffling noises as she held him.

Eliza stood at the same time that Peggy did, and they completed the huddle on Angelica’s left and right. 

“What am I supposed to do?” John’s voice weaved through the tangled bodies and arms and hair. “I’m so angry… It’s all there, like it’s a hot ball of lead in my chest, and I can’t get rid of it. I hate him so much, Ang, I hate him, I hate him…”

Eliza tangled her hands in John’s curls and slowly dragged down, combing out his hair as he breathed in and out, eventually steadying. 

He pulled away and they let him, and he dropped back onto the couch.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“You need catharsis,” Eliza said, sitting on his right. “Release.”

“You need to fuck up some shit,” Peggy said. “You want to go to the shooting range? I know a guy that can get us in after hours.”

“No,” Eliza said, pointing at her sister, “and we’re going to talk later.”

“But she’s right,” Angelica said, back in her original spot, perched on the easy chair. “Tell me you have something of Hamilton’s we can ruin. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

“I don’t,” John said. Angelica blew out a breath.

“Maybe I can get Tom to drive that purple monstrosity over here,” she mused. “We could put bats to it for a while, might make us all feel better.”

“Except him,” Peggy said. “He loves that car more than he loves you and Madison combined.”

Angelica rolled her eyes. “True.”

“You know what,” John said, draping himself over the back of the sofa to grab his backpack. “I have something. Not of Alex’s, but kind of at the same time.” 

He straightened up, a thick folder in one hand and a bunch of loose papers and sketchbooks in the other.

“Confession time, here’s what I got,” he said, spreading everything on the coffee table. “I draw Alex, like, all the time. Even before we were dating. His face is… I mean…”

Eliza grabbed the first couple of drawings, if only to snap John out of it. 

“And you’re fine with getting rid of them?”

“Yeah,” John said. “It might feel good, you know? Purify or cleanse or whatever you said earlier.”

“Catharsis,” Angelica said.

“Yeah. That.”

“We could throw them off the roof,” Peggy suggested. “Or hit them with the water pressure in our shower. That could kill a man.”

“Peggy’s shooting range sounds pretty damn good right now,” Angelica said.

“Nope,” Eliza said, pulling the grate off of their fireplace and taking an armful of wood from the basket they kept by the door. “There’s only one thing to do with them. It’s time to _burn_.”

•••

John was still sniffling, but Eliza was pretty sure it was due to the ash and smoke from the fireplace and less from heartbreak like it had been. They were all sitting on the floor; Angelica on the far left, shuffling papers, Peggy next to her, balling them up and tossing them to John next to her, who would unfold them, smooth them over his knee, and feed them to the fire. Eliza was beside John, watching his face as he burned drawing after drawing.

His expression was hard as stone; frigid and expressionless, so different than he normally was. The flames rose high and happy, accepting every paper that John offered. 

The room stood still, silent as a grave except for the rustle of papers and the fire’s crackle. It was like the four of them had made a prior agreement, the sanctity of the moment, of John’s catharsis, was not to be disturbed.

And then the doorbell rang.

“Who the shit is that?” Peggy asked. “It’s eleven at night!”

“I’ll get it,” Eliza said, and threw the pillow she’d been clutching in her lap back onto the sofa. 

“If that’s Tom I’m going to kill him,” she heard Angelica mutter as she headed down the hallway to the front door. “I told him _explicitly_ that this party wasn’t about him.” 

“He must’ve taken it pretty hard.” John’s voice floated down the hall with her, and Eliza opened the door a crack, peering out.

“Who is it?” Peggy called from deeper into the apartment. Eliza didn’t answer, partially because she was having a tough time comprehending the girl in front of her.

Maria Lewis exhaled, wiping a finger under her right eye to catch stray flecks of mascara. She’d been crying, Eliza could tell, and she didn’t touch her left eye, because her left eye was swollen and freshly bruised.

“I know you’re friends with Alex,” she began, forcing the words out, “and I’m probably the last person you want to see, but I have nowhere else to go--”

“Eliza, Peggy wants to know…” John came up behind her and immediately trailed off as soon as he saw Maria. “Oh. Um…”

They looked at each other for a heartbeat; Maria, battered and cringing, and John, still smelling like fire, with soot on his fingers. 

“Maria, right?” John asked.

She nodded. “And you’re…”

“John, yeah. What happened?”

“Uh…” She bit her lip, which had a little scar right in the middle, like it had been split again and again so many times it had to grow thicker skin. “My boyfriend, his name is James…”

“He hit you?” John asked, taking a shocked step back and then another for good measure, creating a wide passage into the apartment. “I don’t know why you came by here, and it’s not even my place, but if you want to, and Eliza’s okay with it...”

He glanced over at Eliza, and she nodded.

John ushered Maria into the living room and Eliza heard the tail end of a sentence before she closed the door after them.

“...we’re burning shit, if you want to join…”

•••

Maria caught onto the concept of _burning shit_ pretty quickly.

Peggy brought her a salve for her eye and Angelica lent her a pair of sweatpants and together the five of them crowded around the fireplace with the remnants of John’s drawings of Alex and a bag of marshmallows Peggy had somehow found behind all the cereal in their bottom cabinet.

As she stabbed a marshmallow with one of their fire prongs, Angelica gave Maria a once-over.

“So, the boyfriend? Your eye?”

“James is…” Maria looked like she was choosing her words carefully. “Angry. A lot.”

“So that makes it okay for him to hit you?”

“He’s the only person I knew when I moved here,” Maria said. “He let me live with him, he provided for me, and in return…” She paused briefly. “I know it’s not okay, I know everything he does is _not okay_ , but what else am I supposed to do?”

Eliza was silent. John, Peggy, and Angelica were silent.

“I kept him at bay by doing everything he wanted me to,” she continued. “The scams to trick men out of their money, the sex kitten act, everything was for him. And when Alex posted those pictures and tagged my name…”

She took in one shuddering breath. “James monitored everyone I became friends with on Facebook, and I’m guessing a good number of them saw the pictures and… He kept saying that Alex _exposed_ him, and that I was complicit in it, and…”

She took the picture of Alex that John handed her, and tossed it on the fire. Flames flickered over it, consuming it and lighting one half of her face, the half James Reynolds bruised.

“I’m so sorry,” John eventually said.

“You can stay with us,” Peggy offered. “I’ll sleep on the floor and you can have my bed.”

“You want me to kick his ass?” Angelica asked. “I’m legitimately serious. I know some people.”

Eliza laid a hand on Maria’s shoulder. “Thanks for telling us. I know it’s scary, and I know even thinking about him can be terrifying, but--”

Her phone buzzed, and she couldn’t help but glance at it.

**A. Burr**

AB: You’re with Maria Lewis?

“Give me one second,” Eliza said, handed the sheaf of papers to John, and ducked out of the room into the nearest one, their hall bathroom. She dialed Aaron’s number, paced the tiny floor, and chewed on a thumbnail. He answered on the second ring.

“Eliza?”

“How’d you know Maria’s at our house?”

“Peggy,” Aaron said, his trademark smooth, calm voice a little harried, a little rushed. “Theo follows her on snapchat, there was a picture of her on Peggy’s story or something.”

“She’s a wreck, Aaron,” Eliza said. “Her asshole boyfriend gave her a black eye. What should I do?”

“She came to you,” he replied, “that must mean something. She must feel comfortable around you. I doubt that scumbag lets her have her own friends.”

“Can she stay here?”

“I don’t see why not,” Aaron said. “She left him of her own free will. If she wants to stay at your place and you guys want her there, I wouldn’t see why that would be a bad idea.”

“You’re a lawyer, Aaron, how can she get away from him?”

“First off, I’m an _intern_ , Eliza. But I can see what I can do. Can I come over tomorrow, talk to her? If she wants to, that is.”

“I’ll ask her.”

“Good.” Aaron exhaled. “Lord Jesus. Keep her safe, Eliza.”

“Will do. Tell Theo I said hi.”

“Will do. Have a nice night, Miss Schuyler.”

“Back at you, Mr. Burr.”

Eliza hung up and leaned against the doorframe for a heartbeat. It all was too much, the boy burning drawings in her living room, the girl with the black eye, the hurt deep in her soul for both of them. And then, suddenly, Maria was there, coming down the hallway like a summoned ghost, her eyes wide as she searched Eliza out.

“Can I talk to you?” she asked as soon as she saw the light on in the bathroom and the open door. “Like, in private? Just for a second.”

“Of course,” Eliza said, and flipped the light switch off. “My room’s down the hall to the left. You want a water bottle or anything?”

Maria shook her head no, but Eliza ducked into the kitchen and grabbed two, anyway.

Glancing back at John and her sisters in the living room, Eliza ushered the other girl into her bedroom. She had decorated it when they’d first moved into the apartment about a seven months prior, and she still loved the mint and silver color scheme she’d chosen. Her comforter and blankets were white, with a few colorful pillows mixed in, and she had a few art deco prints on the wall along with three Beyonce posters in frames, side-by-side, that Peggy had gotten her for her birthday the previous year.

It was a little messy (there was a pile of not-quite-dirty clothes on a chair that technically wasn’t even a chair anymore, but a clothes holding device), her dresser had a slew of half-used perfume bottles and samples from Lush scattered across the top, and she was pretty sure that a bra was hanging off the top of her closet door, but Maria didn’t seem to mind.

Eliza flopped back onto her bed, patting the comforter until Maria joined her. After she passed the other girl a bottle of water, she pulled a pillow and hugged it close to her chest.

“I’m sorry,” Maria started. Eliza looked over.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, and started to reach over before she stopped herself. “Can I…”

“Yeah.” Maria scooted over closer, close enough for Eliza to put her arm around her shoulders. “This is nice. I haven’t had something like this in so long.”

“Like what?”

Maria put her head on Eliza’s shoulder. “Somewhere I feel safe.”

It was warm, Maria’s hair was soft, and she smelled like snow and fire and cinnamon. Eliza’s heart ached.

“Stay here,” she whispered into Maria’s curls. “With me, with my sisters. We’ll find a way to protect you from him, we’ll find a way to get you out.”

“You would do that for me?”

“I would do anything to make sure you’re safe,” Eliza said. moving even closer to Maria. “I’ve felt like that before. Helpless, trapped. If I can help you in any way--”

Maria wrapped her arms around Eliza and she stopped, grunting a little as the other girl pulled her into an embrace. They stayed like that for a long time, the moon shining through Eliza’s blinds as they found comfort in closeness, in shared heartbeats, in each other.

•••

The apartment was quiet.

Eliza had changed, trading her dark jeans and lace-trimmed cami for soft grey sweatpants, a ratty t-shirt, and cupcake-patterned socks, and after she brushed her teeth and washed her face, she took one more lap around to check on everyone. 

Angelica was in bed, comforter pulled up to her chin as she video-chatted. Eliza joined her for a second, saying goodnight to James as, in the background, a shirtless Thomas yelled something at the TV. Peggy had passed out on the sofa, draping herself in a very uncomfortable looking position as she snored lightly. Maria was in Eliza’s bed, wrapped in two or three blankets and also wearing a pair of Eliza’s sweatpants.

And John was still by the dying fire.

Eliza approached him, knelt down, and put a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t seem surprised that she was there, and instead, handed her three drawings, the last ones in the pile.

The first was Alex behind Libertea’s counter, eyes squinted in concentration as he made a drink. His hair was pulled back under a hairnet, but a few pieces still fell in his face, and a sliver of tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth. The attention to detail was incredible, every eyelash was in place, every mole and freckle and indent in Alex’s skin was there, and Eliza even caught a glimpse of Lafayette’s fluffy ponytail through the kitchen window.

The second was Alex asleep on the couch in John’s apartment, his arm flung across his face as his mouth opened in a silent snore. He was wearing a tanktop and basketball shorts, and only one sock. John had dated it one week after Christmas, and had signed with a flourish.

And the third was Alex in a sweatshirt, laughing, the skin around his eyes crinkled in mirth.

John had captioned that one, the only one in the pile of drawings to have words scribbled at the bottom.

_The first day we met!_

“Burn ‘em,” John said quietly. “I can’t do it.”

“If you don’t want to you don’t have to,” Eliza replied. “But you know I can’t do that for you.”

Slowly, wordlessly, he took the drawings back. The first one was fed to the fire, crammed into the hearth like if he didn’t do it in a rush it would never get done. 

“He said he was mine,” John said, and picked up the second drawing. It too, burned. “I thought he was mine.”

He smoothed the final drawing onto the stone surrounding the fireplace. The paper was old and worn, like John had carried it around with him for a long time, folding and unfolding the paper until the creases were natural. Eliza looked over at John, his lips set in an unshakable line, his nostrils flared in deserved fury, his dark eyes holding back a storm.

After he took a deep, trembling breath, he picked it up, let it go, and the two of them watched in silence as the flames consumed it.

He breathed out, and the fire exhaled embers with him.

“I hope that he _burns._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: The group deals with Alex, with John, with Maria, and with some news that blows them all away.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com! The hashtag on all social media is #SOLTEA, and yes, I do track it!
> 
> -Gab


	30. Can I See Him, Please?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Alex live and work apart, and the group hears some news.

John woke up, just like he had for the past couple days, in a strange place. 

Not that the place was strange in its entirety. He’d been living there enough that he knew where to find the smallest pot in the cabinet of assorted pots, he knew how to adjust the shower nozzle to get the best water pressure, he knew that Peggy kept a bucket of Hershey Kisses in her room and that the caramel ones were always on the bottom. It was strange because it wasn’t his, it was strange because while the Schuylers were welcoming and wonderful, they weren’t his roommates.

It was strange because he’d gotten accustomed to having Alex beside him when he fell asleep and beside him when he woke up, and now he was alone.

His alarm buzzed again, and he turned it off before it got any louder. The apartment was still dark; it was six in the morning, the earliest riser besides him was Eliza, and she didn’t have to be awake until eight. He had work in forty-five minutes. The snow had been less intense all week, it was Saturday, and Libertea was likely to be packed as soon as they opened the doors.

John untangled himself from the pile of blankets on the couch and padded into the kitchen, yawning. On the second day of him staying with the Schuylers, he’d gone to the grocery store with Peggy and gotten a whole bunch of breakfast bars and instant oatmeal and Poptarts, things he could make himself without turning on a stove. It was nice, picking out different flavors and pushing Peggy around in the aisles, but he hadn’t had a hot breakfast in almost a week. It was almost a daily thing, taking pictures of his food and sending it to Herc.

He opened Snapchat and took a picture, his cup of berry oatmeal and a chocolate chip Poptart.

_Miss your pancakes, bro. Not you, just the pancakes._

He could picture Herc’s face as soon as he opened up the snap; the eye-roll, the slight smile, how he’d hold the phone out for Lafayette to see before it disappeared. He slid onto a stool at the island with his breakfast, missing his roommates, missing Alex, and, not for the first time, feeling very alone.

Eliza’s cathartis, the picture burning, had worked. At least, that’s what he told her. 

(That’s what he told _himself_.)

But, in reality, everything reminded him of Alex. Everything made his heart ache in a way he hadn’t felt since South Carolina. Everything, from Peggy playing Fall Out Boy’s _Save Rock And Roll_ album on repeat one afternoon as she cleaned, to Angelica and Maria making omelets for dinner, made him think about Alex.

Not to say the cathartis didn’t work. He still had a lot of pent-up anger and resentment, questions and feelings, tears and fury, but burning shit made a little bit of it go away. If he couldn’t project his emotions right onto Alex’s face, he could at least burn it.

And _Maria_. John hadn’t been avoiding her, hell, they were both gate-crashers in the Schuylers’ apartment, and it wasn’t big enough to avoid anyone, but he certainly hadn’t sought her out out, either. She spent most of her time inside, and John knew she was afraid that if she left the building, Reynolds would find her. She didn’t have a job, an income, or a place to live outside of him, and was convinced that he was looking for her.

Burr had come by the previous night; he brought a big bottle of wine and Theo in an even bigger sweater, and his laptop with files about domestic violence restraining orders. They’d all sat on the floor with wine and the cookies Lafayette had sent back with John, and Burr explained the process to Maria.

She had pictures. Eliza had taken them the night of the fire, and had printed them out. Burr attached them to Maria’s file, which included her phone (full of threatening texts and voicemails Reynolds had failed to delete), and a few medical reports (two broken ribs, and a deep cut she’d told them came from breaking a vase, but had come from him). Burr, who had been acting as her attorney (and John knew he was having at least a little bit of fun using his skills), promised he’d take her to the courthouse the next day, and Theo and Eliza were going with them for emotional support.

And John? John was going to work.

Washington, without telling John he was doing this, had banned Alex from Libertea. In his place was Burr, taking over the cash register at Libertea while Alex did his job over at Libertwo. When John confronted Washington about it, he simply said that he thought Burr’s talents were better utilized at their shop, and that Alex’s temporary move was good for everyone.

John didn’t mind as much as he thought he would. Burr, surprisingly, fit in pretty well with the daily worktime banter he, Lafayette, and Herc got into; his dry sense of humor and deprecating eye rolls went right along with Lafayette’s French expletives and John throwing coffee beans and Herc picking up whoever was unfortunate enough to get picked up by Herc.

He wasn’t Alex, but John was determined to make the most out of his life, and moping around at work while thinking about the most recent person he’d kissed who had also cheated on him was _not_ the way to go about that.

So he slung coffee and made fun of Burr and got hugged by Mrs. Ross (who was, unfortunately, friends with Alex on Facebook), and glared good natured glares at Washington who he knew cared about him first and foremost.

John fell into step with Burr in front of Libertea as the other man got out of his cab, sleek black messenger bag slung over one shoulder, wool coat on underneath. John nudged him in the ribs as they joined Herc and Lafayette huddled by the door; Herc fumbling with his key, Lafayette on the phone (presumably with Adrienne, who had rented a car and was traipsing around the East Coast without abandon).

“Morning, Burr.”

“Laurens.”

“I thought you were going to the courthouse today?”

“After lunch. I already asked Washington and he said it was fine.”

“Who’s going to the courthouse?” Herc asked, yelling back over his shoulder as the four of them entered the shop. Lafayette flicked on the lights as Burr slung his bag behind the counter and grabbed aprons for both John and himself. “Don’t tell me you and Theo are getting married. I thought you had a venue and everything?”

Burr tied his apron around his waist. “I’m not getting _married_ , Mulligan.” 

“Yeah,” John said, using one of the bar stools to propel himself over the counter. “Burr wouldn’t get married without consulting his _best man_ about it, first…”

“I’m going with Maria Lewis to get her order of protection approved,” Burr explained, and shot a raised-eyebrows glance over towards John. “And I already promised Jefferson he could be my best man, sorry.”

“ _Jefferson?_ ”

“I’m still pretty sure he and Madison conned me into it.”

“You’re a _lawyer_ \--”

“Anyway,” Burr said, making an exaggerated half-turn so he could face Herc, “Maria--”

“That’s the girl that Alex, you know…” Herc trailed off. John crossed his arms.

“Yeah. But she was being forced by her jackass boyfriend to do all that, so it’s not her fault.”

“And we’re going to keep him far away from her,” Burr concluded. Herc raised an eyebrow.

“You need some muscle?”

“Not for this, no.” Burr unlocked the register as John went to open the door and flip the sign. “This is just to get the order. Once the judge actually sends it to him, however, that’s probably going to be a different story.”

“How does that work?” Lafayette asked, poking his head out of the kitchen’s serving window.

“We go in,” Burr said, “get the restraining order put in, which it will be, because Maria’s evidence is rock-solid. She gets a temporary one that she has to carry with her, and the court sends a summons to Reynolds…”

“Oh, he’s going to love that.”

“Who has to appear in court on a set date, along with Maria, her lawyer, and any live witnesses that could help her case. That’s when the judge decides if the order’s going to be lifted or made permanent.”

“You know who could be a witness for her,” Lafayette said. Burr nodded.

“Hamilton.”

•••

“Remember that time,” Jefferson said, calling over his shoulder to Madison as he aimed a wad of crumpled-up napkins at the trashcan, “that Aaron Burr made me his best man?”

Alex missed Madison’s reply as he leaned across one of Libertwo’s far tables, swiping at something sticky that had been there for hours. He found that the workday almost went faster when he ignored the two of them whenever they weren’t talking directly to him; their lives were a twined mess of inside jokes and secret codes and blink-and-you-miss-it moments that made one immediately feel like an outsider, and that reminded Alex way too much of John.

He hadn’t seen John since the Facebook incident, something that Jefferson had been calling _the Reynolds Pamphlet_ , like it was a big eighteenth-century scandal and Alex should be wearing a big scarlet _A_ for asshole on his chest. They’d been treating him alright, though, Jefferson and Madison, not making a big deal of things and letting him work with them after Washington forced him to switch with Burr. 

(Burr was more disgruntled about the switch than anyone. Libertwo was quieter and less rowdy than the original shop, and he liked it like that.)

The song changed, from some mellow R &B to something Alex recognized, a Carly Rae Jepsen song that had to be at least five years old, complete with Jefferson yelling lyrics across the shop. It was something John would’ve put on the playlist over at Libertea, and Alex actually found himself tearing up to the catchy beat of _Call Me Maybe_.

“Fuck,” he hissed, rubbing the damp cloth harder than he needed to across the table. He missed John, he missed him so _much_ , it was hard to go anywhere or do anything without thinking about him.

“Hey,” Jefferson called, and Alex’s head shot up, but his back was to Alex, and he was talking through the kitchen window. Alex bent back down over his sticky coffee stain. “You up to go to the Schuylers’ tonight? Burr just texted me.”

“Burr?” Alex asked. He couldn’t help himself.

Jefferson turned, sliding his phone back into his pocket like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Uh, no.”

“Why’s Burr going to the Schuylers’ tonight?” Alex continued, sidling up to the counter. He hadn’t heard anything from them in so long; the topic of the Schuylers and their apartment and John was, by unspoken agreement, taboo. John had chosen their home as his safe place, and Alex had, up until then, respected it. “And they invited you guys?”

“Yeah, Thomas,” Madison said, emerging from the kitchen, leaning, nonchalant, against the doorway as he dried his hands on a dishtowel. “Tell us why Burr is going to the Schuyler sisters’ apartment tonight.”

Jefferson, in an unprecidented move, physically shrank back.

“You know I can’t do that, Mads, I forgot--”

“You forgot I was in the room, right?” Alex crossed his arms. “And John’s going to be there, and heaven fucking forbid--”

“Okay,” Madison said, straightening up and throwing the towel onto the bar, “making Thomas uncomfortable is my game, all right? And you did this to yourself, in case you’re forgetting, Alexander.”

Madison quirked an eyebrow his direction, and Alex seethed.

“Just tell me what you’re all doing, and I’ll drop it.”

“No, you won’t.”

“And I don’t know,” Jefferson broke in. “Burr’s being all--” he made a zipper motion across his lips “--about it. Really weird, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, it’s weird that _Aaron Burr’s_ being secretive about something,” Madison muttered. “And Alex? I mean it. Drop it.”

Alex raised both hands. “Consider it dropped.”

But, as they finished up the rest of the workday and closed up the shop, Alex found the matter definitely not dropped in the slightest. It was all he could think about; Aaron Burr, the most closed off man New York City had to offer, calling a meeting, a gathering, at the Schuylers’ apartment, of all places. What was his deal? What was he doing?

_And,_ he thought as he slipped out the main door after Madison, waiting by the curb as Jefferson locked it behind the three of them, _John’s going to be there_

He still didn’t know what he’d say when John finally let him talk. He figured the words would be there; they hadn’t let him down yet.

Jefferson offered him a ride home, but he declined. There was nothing he’d like less in the world than to be in an enclosed space with the two of them while he was alone; it wasn’t that they were touchy-feely (Jefferson was, surprisingly, as pure as a saint while they were all at work), but the proximity of it all. Being close to people who cared about each other in such a blatant and obvious way that Jefferson and Madison did was enough to tie Alex’s stomach into knots, it was enough to make him see red, it was enough to make him clench his fingers into fists tight enough to leave crescent indents on his palms.

It was enough to make him turn the wrong way, and, instead of heading towards his apartment and his leftover burrito bowl in the fridge and his sweatpants and his bed, he turned towards the Schuyler’s place, and confrontation, and _John_.

•••

“So,” John asked, tossing pretzels in the air towards Peggy’s open mouth, “what do you think Burr wants to talk to us about?”

Peggy caught a pretzel, and John lifted his foot so that she could bump it with his. It had become sort of routine, the pretzel thing; the youngest Schuyler would put on an episode of some sitcom (they were working their way through _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ ), John would dig through the cabinet for Eliza’s big bag of pretzel sticks, they’d sit on opposite ends of the couch, and he’d tell her about his day while throwing food at her face. 

The first day he’d lived with them it had been bad. Working a shift at Libertea, even without Alex there, had emotionally drained him, and he’d returned to the Schuylers’ place angry and full of enough salt to put the Dead Sea to shame. Peggy had grabbed him, forced him to sit, and gave him something mindless to do (throwing pretzels) until he was calm enough to talk about it. She didn’t give the best advice, but John didn’t want advice.

“It’s probably something ridiculous,” Peggy replied, tossing a pretzel that had missed her mouth back at him. “Oh shit, you don’t think he’s quitting Libertea, do you?”

“He just got the job,” John said. “He wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble with Washington just to quit a month later, that’s not his style. I bet him and Theo are getting married.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Peggy kicked him. “We have an invitation on our fridge. Who sends out invites almost four months before a wedding? Oh, right, _Aaron Burr_ , the most detail-oriented of us all--"

John kicked her back. “I meant sooner than that, idiot. Like, they’re running away to elope or something.”

“Can you even imagine Burr trying to elope?”

“He’d get five feet out the door before exploding,” John agreed. “He’d never leave the venue, or the invites, or that cake decorator he hired, so that can’t be it. I wonder if Theo has news? She runs that mom blog, right? Maybe she got a book deal or something.”

“That’d be fuckin’ sick,” Peggy said, and snatched a pretzel out of midair.

Someone knocked on the door, and, immediately after, Jefferson pushed his way into the apartment. Madison came after, bag slung over his shoulder and apologetic look on his face. Peggy tossed a pretzel at him, and he didn’t catch it.

“Sorry for him,” he said, making a vague gesture towards Jefferson, who was already in the kitchen, nudging the fridge open with one foot, two bottles of water in his hands. “I know we don’t live here--”

“We have _keys_ , Mads,” Jefferson called over his shoulder as he rummaged. “That’s about as official as it gets. Hey, Tequila, where’s your sister?”

Peggy threw a pretzel at John and he dove for it, cracking up when it hit his nose and fell to the floor. 

“Old or middle?”

“Who do you think?”

“She’s getting dinner,” Peggy replied. “I wanted anything but Subway, but weirdo over here requested Subway, so we’re getting Subway.” She poked John with her foot. “He’s heartbroken, so we give him what he wants.”

John shrugged. “Subway’s fuckin’ good.”

“Should I let her know you two want something?” Peggy asked.

“On it.” Madison took his phone out of his pocket, hung his bag on the coatrack, and moved to the easy chair adjacent to John and Peggy’s couch. “Burr’s not here yet, right?”

“Him and Theo and Eliza and Maria are on their way,” John said. “They were at the courthouse for, like, _hours_. And yeah, they already put their sandwich orders in with Angelica, so don’t worry about that.”

“Wasn’t worried,” Madison replied, texting.

“Hold up.” Jefferson dropped onto the couch, right in the middle, and leaned back, putting his feet up on the coffee table as he handed Peggy a Dr. Pepper and John a water. “Maria? I knew she was with y’all, but I didn’t know anything about her and Burr and the courthouse.”

“They’re trying to get her a restraining order against Reynolds,” John said. “Burr says it should be easy, but I bet trying to get that dick anywhere near a judge is going to be a trip and a half.”

Jefferson made a noncommittal noise as Angelica burst into the apartment, arms laden with sandwiches, and Madison leapt up to help her. Between the five of them, they got the coffeetable cleared off, a bowl for the rest of the pretzels, and more drinks, a water for Madison and a beer for Angelica. They divided up what she’d brought from Subway, making stacks of cookies and a small pile of chip bags to dig through.

Everyone else showed up when John was halfway done with the first half of his sub; Herc and Lafayette made room by the fireplace, Eliza sat between him and Jefferson, Burr and Theo grabbed themselves drinks from the fridge, and Maria perched on the couch’s arm until Eliza dragged her to the floor with the rest of them, handing her a sub and scooting close until the two girls were inseparable.

No one pressed Burr to talk about what he’d asked the group to gather to talk about, no one talked about Maria’s day at the courthouse, and no one talked about Alex Hamilton, they all just ate and made fun of the inexplicable marinara sauce stain on Jefferson’s shirt and passed cookies back and forth and enjoyed each other.

•••

The outside of the Schuylers’ apartment never looked so intimidating.

Alex stood there, fidgeting and trying to drum up the courage to knock. He knew people were inside, he kept hearing muffled thumps and laughter that he couldn’t recognize through the thick walls. He knew people were inside, and he knew he wasn’t invited.

_This is John’s space,_ he kept telling himself, _and it should be respected._

Truth was, he had some pretty good things to tell himself, but himself didn’t like to listen.

He knocked.

Everything inside the apartment went silent. He knew he’d been heard, but nothing happened. No feet moving to answer, no _click_ as the door unlocked, no familiar face to greet him. He lifted his fist, and he knocked again.

Almost immediately, the door opened, and Alex came face-to-shocked-face with Angelica Schuyler. She had marinara sauce on the corner of her mouth and a Subway napkin in her left hand, and as soon as she saw Alex, she went through a veritable windstorm of emotions, eventually settling on pure fury.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“I thought--”

She pushed his chest, enough to get him to stumble back a step, and moved outside into the hallway with him. As soon as the door closed behind them, she turned on him again.

“You’re not allowed to be here.”

“I’m not the one having group meetings without me,” Alex shot back. 

She laughed, quick and sardonic. “We all weren’t exactly _involved_ in your little back alley deals with James Reynolds, so why should you be involved in anything any of us do?”

“Angelica…”

“No, Alexander, you don’t get to come here and act like we owe you something, like we owe you entry into our lives after you did what you did. Remember that? When you invented a new kind of stupid?”

“If you would just let me _talk_ to him--”

“You don’t remember? Let’s review. You cheated on John, lied about it, ruined an innocent girl’s life by posting your _shit_ all over the internet, oh, yeah. I know about Maria Lewis and her abusive _fucking_ boyfriend, Alexander, a situation you perpetuated by being a jackass--”

“I never meant to hurt Maria!”

“You _didn’t mean to hurt her?_ That’s wonderful! You know what? She got hurt, she’s still hurting, and she’s sitting on my floor right now, wondering if the fucking restraining order she’s getting against Reynolds is going to be enough. She’s scared, Alexander, and John’s heartbroken, and it’s your fault!”

Angelica’s nostrils flared. “I would protect those people in there with my life. I never thought I would have to protect them from you.”

“Angelica…”

She moved aside, nudging the apartment door open with her foot before stepping away and gesturing at the doorway with both arms.

“It’s all yours, Alexander. Congratulations.”

He maneuvered around her, making sure not to meet her icy glare or to step on her toes. The hallway into the apartment was dark but he could see the lights on in the living room; Peggy was moving around in the kitchen and Madison was sweeping something up in the far corner.

Entering apprehensively, Alex twisted his fingers together and apart as his heart pounded. He’d never felt like this before, like his intestines were knotted and his lungs were in tatters and his vocal cords didn’t work. 

And then he saw John.

John, laughing at something Eliza had said, holding the remnants of a sandwich and kicked back on the Schuylers’ floor without a care in the world. John, the skin around his eyes crinkled in little accordion stripes, his dark eyes sparkling, the soft hairs around his ears spiraling into the air. John, his nose a little scrunched, the freckles on it stark and brilliant, the scar grazing his lip white and prominent. 

_John._

“John,” he said, and he was surprised that his voice still worked.

It was like someone had flipped a switch. The entire room fell silent, and the entire room watched as John looked up, and the entire room watched as John met Alex’s eyes, and the entire room watched as Alex took a deep, shuddering breath.

“I’m so, so sorry, John,” he said, and his voice still worked, despite the tiny waver of grief undercutting it, “I can’t reverse what I did to you, but I want to make it better. You have to believe me, I want to fix this, whatever it takes!”

John looked at him, and in the thousand years it took for Alex to comprehend, raised one eyebrow in the coldest, most disdainful look Alex had ever seen on John’s open, kind face before, and he turned towards the kitchen.

“So, Burr, what did you want to tell us?”

Movement swept through the room, from Jefferson turning to Angelica with raised, disbelieving eyebrows, to Eliza pulling Maria even closer, but Alex only had eyes for John, who was resolutely looking anywhere other than at him.

“It’s not really me,” Burr replied, smoothly stepping over the awkward silence and into Theo’s arms where she was waiting for him by the island. She was dressed more comfortable than she usually was, with her hair pulled back and a comfortable sweater big enough to hide her hands in the sleeves. “Theo has some news she wanted to share with all of you first.”

She beamed, leaning into Burr.

“I’m pregnant.”

And, for a second, everything was gone. All of the problems, and complications, and hardships of the past month were out the Schuylers’ apartment window as the ten of them crowded into the kitchen around Theodosia and Burr, hugging and jostling and asking questions and making Burr uncomfortable. Lafayette and Jefferson uncorked a bottle of wine and started talking baby names as Madison grabbed Theo a Coke and Burr kissed her on the cheek.

Alex felt almost like an intruder, hugging Theo and congratulating Burr as John avoided him, as Angelica glared at him, as Lafayette and Herc gave him furtive glances. He didn't belong, wouldn't belong, until John forgave him.

_If_ John forgave him.

“How far along are you?” Eliza asked her as they moved back into the living room, Alex sticking to the walls and trying to curb his anxious looks toward John.

“Thirteen weeks,” Theo answered. “We didn’t want to tell anyone right away, just in case, but the doctor said everything looks as good as can be. Seven months, guys, and we’re going to have another part of our little group.”

“Seven months,” Burr repeated.

“Seven months,” Eliza said, and looked on in wonder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Seven months.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com! The hashtag on all social media is #SOLTEA, and yes, I do track it!
> 
> -Gab


	31. And You Would Smile,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PART ONE: Months 1-3.

**MARCH (MONTH 1)**

  


March opened, as it usually did in New York, with snow.

It swirled in thick brushstrokes past Libertwo’s big bay window, curling around lampposts and barely touching the pavement before getting swept up again in some phantom wind. Alex watched the snow and fidgeted, twining his fingers together and apart, anxious by the shop’s bar. 

With a little prompting from Burr, he’d texted Maria Lewis the previous night. She was preparing for her court date, and was gathering any evidence to prove that James Reynolds had abused her and that her request for a restraining order was valid, and Alex knew he was one of the only people in existence who had spoken to Reynolds face-to-face and who also knew Maria. He’d asked her to meet him at Libertwo, a safe, open space, so they could talk, and she had agreed.

Burr was also there; it was his day off from Libertea but he’d coaxed a subpar Americano from Jefferson and camped out by the end of the bar. It was so normal, having him sit there, that Alex almost felt like he was working back at the old shop, even for a second.

“Morning,” Jefferson called over the rumble of the espresso machine, and Alex turned just as Eliza and Maria pushed through the door, trailing snow onto the wooden floor. Maria was bundled in a big coat that Alex recognized as Eliza’s, and the other girl had on one of Herc’s knitted hats and a pair of fuzzy boots. “Schuyler, you drink tea, right?”

“Mint, please,” Eliza said, hanging up both her and Maria’s coats and claiming the seat next to Burr. “Two sugars, no milk.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jefferson slid her cup across the bar and accepted her credit card. “Maria?”

She pulled her shirt sleeves over her hands. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

“Forget that,” Eliza said. “She takes her coffee how Angelica does, sweet, black, and--”

“Hotter than the depths of hell,” Jefferson finished, swiping her card and passing it back. “I think I got it.”

“You want to go over there?” Alex asked as Jefferson passed Maria her coffee, gesturing at one of Libertwo’s smaller tables on the other side of the shop. “It might be a little quieter.”

“I doubt anywhere will be quieter than next to Aaron Burr,” Maria said, and it took Alex a second to realize it was a joke. He turned to see Burr snickering into his Americano, and grinned back at Maria.

“Nice one. Want a cookie?” 

She shook her head but he grabbed two out of the case anyway, balanced them with both of their drinks, and followed her to the back corner. She settled into her seat like at any second she was going to bolt for the door, and her eyes darted every which way like a bumblebee, nervous and flighty. 

“Uh,” he started, not as eloquent as he wanted to be, “can I apologize first?”

“For what?” she asked, not in a mean way, as she pulled her drink close and held it up to her face to inhale the steam. Her eye was still ringed with the remnants of a bruise, like a water stain left on a wooden table, and he felt guilt and pain clench in the pit of his stomach.

“Everything, I guess,” he said, forcing himself to keep speaking. “I knew something was off between you and Reynolds, I had to have known, and I didn’t do anything. Well, I _did_ do something, I published that online and tagged you like an idiot, and I’m sorry. I didn’t think any of this through, I was only focused on me and on John and about how it would affect us, I didn’t think about everyone else it would hurt, I didn’t think about Laf or Herc or Eliza, I didn’t think about Mr. Washington, and _fuck_ , I didn’t think about _you_ , how you had to _live_ with him, I know what he’s like, _Jesus_ \--”

“Alex,” Maria cut in and he stopped, sucking in a huge breath as she stared at him with her wide, mascara-ringed eyes. “I left him. I picked myself up and got the hell out of there, and only I could have done that. Don’t beat yourself up over not saving me.”

“But the Facebook post--”

“Was a dick move,” she said, breaking off a piece of cookie and crumbling it into smaller bits between her fingers. “And it made him very angry, and he hit me. _And then I left_.”

She looked up. “I’m not saying you did a good thing by posting that online, but I’m saying it’s done. And I’m not around James anymore, and soon I won’t have to see him ever again.” 

Once more, her eyes flickered towards the door. Alex was suddenly struck with the sudden, awful realization that she never felt safe, that she’d spent the last few weeks looking over her shoulder, waiting, _waiting_ for him to find her.

“What can I do?” he asked. “I’ll do it, anything. You need me to testify in that court? I’ll do it. I talked to Reynolds dozens of times and my memory’s pretty much perfect, Maria, I promise--”

She smiled, a crooked, soft, sad sort of smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Thanks, Alex.”

They sat in silence for a while, both picking at their respective cookies and listening to whatever Jefferson was playing over the shop’s speakers, until she reached across the table and took both of his hands into hers.

“I forgive you,” she said.

“What?”

“You said you were apologizing, and I forgive you.” She squeezed his hands once and let him go. “You made mistakes, which is whatever, but I think what people do after their mistakes shows what they’re really like.”

Alex thought this over, chewing his cookie.

“So what am I really like?”

“That’s still up for debate.” She reached over and stole the last piece. “But for what it’s worth, I think you’re on the right track.”

•••

Maria’s court date happened in the middle of the month, on the first genuinely spring-like day of the year. It was quick and efficient, with Reynolds and his attorney (some half-assed guy who didn’t even tie his tie properly before entering the room) on one side, alone, and Maria, Alex, Burr, and an actual lawyer from Burr’s firm on the other.

(Alex was pretty sure Burr had promised to do the other guy’s paperwork for a full year if he helped him represent Maria.)

The benches on one half of the courtroom were completely vacant. This was Reynolds’ side. The other half, Maria’s, was filled with people; Theo, now starting to show, was front-and-center, with Eliza beside her. The Washingtons, John, and Lafayette made up the next row, with Herc and Peggy behind them, and Angelica, Madison, and Jefferson behind _them_. The judge, obviously not used to such a full house for restraining order hearings, went through it quickly.

Alex spoke for what felt like seconds, but, after the fact, Burr told him he’d talked for more than twenty minutes, and the judge had looked at his watch three times. In the end, it didn’t matter, because he ruled wholeheartedly in favor of Maria, and a fuming James Reynolds was escorted from the room by the bailiff. 

They convened back at Libertwo for drinks, because it was the shop closest to the courthouse. Alex sat by himself in the corner, until he was joined by Lafayette, bearing two cups of coffee, and Herc, who nudged him in the shoulder and told him it was cool what he’d done for Maria, although if he’d have talked for much longer Herc would have suplexed him through the courtroom floor.

John, who had been walking past, muttered something about _wanting to see that_ under his breath, and that’s when Herc grabbed him around the waist, ignored his groans of protest, deposited him in the only other available chair, and told him if he wanted to suplex people, he’d have to do it himself.

John, obviously despite himself, grinned, and for the first time in over a month, Alex found himself laughing with his friends.

  


**APRIL (MONTH 2)**

  


April opened as the flowers Herc planted outside of Libertea did, in red and purple and yellow, rainbows of color greeting Alex every time he entered the shop. Washington had put him back on the schedule at the original shop; he wasn’t sure why, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to start complaining.

Washington had made one more change, and hired Maria at Libertwo. There were swirling rumors that he was thinking about firing Adams, the current assistant manager, who Alex had never met and was honestly sure didn’t even exist, and replacing him with either Burr or Jefferson. Alex had asked Burr about it and had gotten no response, and every time he brought up the matter to Jefferson, the subject always got changed to something else, usually something they’d been arguing about, and Alex forgot about the manager thing until Jefferson was gone.

Maria, on the other hand, was slowly working her way into the Libertea family, helping Madison out in the kitchen and learning the cash register from Burr. Alex hardly ever saw Eliza anymore, as she spent all of her time at Libertwo, making heart-eyes at Maria from the other side of the counter. (He’d said that to her once and it earned him two slaps, one on his shoulder and one right on his forehead.)

After the courthouse, things started to change. Eliza started talking to him (and hitting him) again, Washington let him back into Libertea, Peggy added him back into her Snapchat rotation, and Herc even made French toast one morning, which hadn’t been a thing in weeks. John was still distant, but even he didn’t make as much of a point to avoid Alex as he had been.

And on April fourteenth, Burr and Theo got married.

She’d gotten Herc to alter her wedding dress (a thrifted white lace monstrosity he’d torn down and built back up from scratch) to accommodate her now slightly curved stomach, Eliza had done her makeup, and Maria, her hair. It was a small ceremony in Central Park, right by the Conservatory Garden. Washington walked Theo down the aisle to Burr, where they were married by Franklin, back from France for a few weeks’ vacation. 

No one was in the audience, except for random passersby in the park. Martha stood as Theo’s matron of honor, followed by Eliza, Angelica, Peggy, Adrienne (who’d drove back to New York from somewhere out west just for the ceremony), and Maria. On Burr’s side was Jefferson as his altogether too smug best man, Washington, Madison, Lafayette, Herc, John, and Alex.

Halfway through the vows, underneath Madison’s quiet sniffles, John leaned over.

“Remember when I used to throw coffee beans at Burr all the time?”

“Remember?” Alex replied incredulously. “You did that last damn week, Laurens.”

John snickered, meeting Alex’s eye quickly before looking away again, and Franklin leaned back to peer around the line of groomsmen.

“Do you have something to add, Monsieur Laurens?”

Burr rolled his eyes from where he was standing with Theo’s hands in his. “Honestly, John, it’s my _wedding day_.”

“And you’re an insensitive fucker, Burr, I thought our love was real!”

Burr laughed, and so did Theo, and then everyone did, and Alex caught a beautiful glimpse of John with his head thrown back, the weak April sun glinting off of his curls and lashes and teeth. Franklin finished the ceremony with quite a few more interruptions (Jefferson breaking the line to go give Madison the tissues he’d stashed in his jacket pocket, a bee flying out of Peggy’s flowers causing her to throw the bouquet right into Angelica’s face, Theo kicking Burr in the shin when he incorporated how she puked all over him during the first few days of her morning sickness into his vows), and, as the sun dipped below the New York City skyline, the groom kissed the bride.

They all cheered as he dipped her and kissed her again, and again.

•••

Burr and Theo held their reception in Libertea; Alex had helped Martha and Eliza and Herc decorate the previous night after closing. They’d pushed all the tables and chairs to the side, hung strings of Christmas lights, and Eliza had made big arrangements of Theo’s favorite flowers (blush pink roses and daisies and baby’s breath). With the main lights dimmed and the towering wedding cake front and center on Libertea’s bar, the small group of invitees and the bride and groom danced and talked and laughed long into the night.

Alex was hiding out in the farthest corner when he was approached by Angelica, resplendent in her soft pink bridesmaid’s dress and holding out her hand.

“May I have this dance?”

“I thought we weren’t talking,” Alex replied, glancing inadvertently over at John, who was doing some sort of line dance with Jefferson, Madison, and Peggy. Angelica followed his gaze, and smiled a tight-lipped smile.

“I always try to fight other people’s battles, Alexander. This is me burying the hatchet.”

“But…”

“But you’re damn sure I’ll never forget where I buried it,” she finished, smiling a real smile this time, and beckoning again. “Come on, you fucking weirdo, dance with me. I want to see how much taller I am than you in these heels.”

He took her hand and allowed himself to be pulled onto the dance floor, where they rotated slowly to some Ed Sheeran song Eliza was playing over the speakers. He stepped on her foot once, apologized, and bit his tongue when she stepped on his own foot twice as hard.

The night wore on as they danced and switched partners and kept dancing. Alex went from dancing with Angelica to doing the YMCA with Eliza, to spinning Theo under the Christmas lights, to forcing Burr to join him in a horrible rendition of the waltz across the floor. Eventually he found himself at a corner table with Lafayette, passing a bottle of wine back and forth as they watched their friends make fools out of themselves.

“I missed you,” Lafayette said after a particularly long pull. Alex looked over, but he was too busy watching Adrienne trying to teach Jefferson how to gavotte. 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I was mad, of course, but I always hoped you and John would be able to, ah, forgive and forget.” He waved the wine bottle around like a tipsy orchestra conductor. “ _Tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner,_ Alexander.”

“You’re philosophical tonight.” Alex grabbed the wine from him and took a long sip. “I don’t know if me and John are ever going to be okay again.”

“I don’t know either,” Lafayette replied. “All you can do is try, _mon petit chou_.”

Alex scooted his chair closer to Lafayette and leaned onto him, his head resting on Lafayette’s shoulder, and together they sat and finished the wine and watched their friends dance. Burr and Theo circling slowly by the bar, her cheek to his chest and his chin on the top of her head. Herc and Peggy twined together at the window, bathed in light from the streetlamp right outside the shop. Eliza and Maria, pressed so close their dresses blended together, the Washingtons, moving in step with each other, Madison, supporting a very tipsy Jefferson every time he stumbled over a step.

Eventually they were joined by Herc and a few cans of beer, and then by John with the remnants of a bottle of Jack Daniels, and eventually they were all on the floor, and eventually everyone trickled out, back to their own homes, back to their own beds.

Instead of leaving with everyone else, Burr and Theo joined them, and the six of them, two with new rings glinting on the fourth fingers of their left hands, sat on Libertea’s floor until the sun rose.

  


**MAY (MONTH 3)**

  


May opened quietly, like it was afraid to startle someone, and Alex was grateful for some calm.

Theo and Burr were gone for a few weeks on their honeymoon. Franklin had let them stay at his timeshare in the Caribbean, and then they were going to France. Jefferson, for whatever reason, was still renting out the apartment he’d used when he lived over there, and had promised Burr it was, one, close to the inner city and two, tastefully decorated. Alex was pretty sure Burr hadn’t believed him. 

Alex shifted in his place on the couch (he’d been studying; spring finals were coming around and it was amazing how much he got done when he wasn’t anxious about paying off someone’s boyfriend), and the first thing he saw was John.

Actually, the first thing he saw was John’s ass, because John was bent over, dragging a cardboard box into the apartment.

Alex rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and looked again. Nope, he was still there.

“John?”

He spun, untamed curls flying everywhere. He obviously hadn’t seen Alex on the couch, and it was almost funny, watching his wide eyes and gaping mouth until he composed himself.

“Uh, hey. I was just, um, moving back in?”

Alex leapt off of the couch. “Seriously? Why didn’t you tell anyone? Here, wait, you need a hand with that box? If there’s more stuff you need to grab I think Herc’s just about to get out of the shower, he’d be free to help, I think--”

“I texted Laf last night,” John said, and nudged the box farther into the apartment with his foot. “And this is it, I mean, there’s nothing left to get from the Schuylers’ place.”

Georges, who had been perched on the windowsill in a pool of sunlight, hissed loud enough to be heard throughout the apartment. John flipped him the bird.

“I missed you too, you asshole cat.” 

“At least let me help you move,” Alex said, and picked up the box. He moved down the hallway towards John’s room as John trailed after him, protesting.

“Just ‘cause you’re a shithead doesn’t mean you need to do stuff like this,” he said, ducking in front of Alex and snatching back the box. Alex let him take it and stood in the hallway and waited, crossing his arms and watching as John tossed the box into the room and slammed the door after the fact. 

“So I’m a shithead?”

John cocked an eyebrow. “That wasn’t already established?”

“I honestly thought you were going to be gone forever,” Alex said, and couldn’t keep the relief out of his voice. John broke too, a little; at least that’s what Alex thought. It looked like he’d smiled, however brief.

“This is my apartment, bitch,” John said, pushing past him and into the kitchen. “I should’ve kicked _you_ out, but I know how married you are to this fuckin’ place.”

“Pretty sure this is Lafayette’s apartment,” Alex shot back, “he pays most of the rent, anyway.”

“Oh, nice burn, Hamilton,” John retorted, rolling his eyes until he ducked out of sight to look for something on the bottom shelf of the fridge. He emerged with a bottle of malta for himself and a Sprite for Alex. “Digs about the rent are guaranteed bangers, I’m dead serious.”

“Shut the hell up, Laurens!”

This continued, the back-and-forth banter that Alex had grown so used to as he’d gotten to know John the first time around. They didn’t talk about Maria, they didn’t talk about Reynolds, or the Facebook post, or the fact that John had moved out and ignored Alex for the better part of a few months, they just made fun of each other and ate most of a bag of ranch Doritos and, for the first time in too long, were almost comfortable together.

Herc eventually got out of the shower, and Lafayette eventually came home from wherever he had been (Adrienne was staying in a hotel for her last few days in New York and he’d spent the past couple of nights there), and the four of them ordered pizza and sat in front of the TV and put on an episode of some new show John was into (some comedy about cops) like no time had passed at all.

Alex was on the couch alone, and John was on the other side of the room next to Herc instead of him, but it was something.

•••

The next week in the apartment passed quickly; Alex gave John his space and let him initiate things like conversations and jokes. When they hung out they did it in a group context, with Herc or Lafayette, or whenever Jefferson and Madison (or Angelica, when she was around) decided to come bother their downstairs neighbors.

It was strangely calm. They worked, they took turns making meals, they watched as Lafayette tried to teach Georges to sit on command (it didn’t ever catch on). The most excitement came from helping Madison officially move from student housing into Jefferson’s apartment, and even that was fairly uneventful, aside from the fact that Madison owned more books than even Alex, and carrying them across the city in boxes was a nightmare. But, even then, tranquility reigned.

Until newest gossip rolled in, gossip that concerned none other than Eliza Schuyler.

Alex caught bits and pieces of it, mainly from Peggy’s frantic mix of tweets and snapchats; something about James Reynolds, Jefferson’s Espada, Philip Schuyler’s team of lawyers, and a box of tampons. Everyone in the apartment (gathered around Lafayette’s phone) saw everything Peggy posted online, but they didn’t get any clarification until the next day at work when Jefferson stormed through Libertea’s front door, bruised and fuming.

“Where the hell is Angelica?” he asked, ignoring the open glare from their only customer in the store, an elderly woman sipping her tea by the big window. 

“What happened to _you?_ ” John asked, leaping up to sit on the counter. “And please fill us in on the Schuyler drama. I live for the drama, Teej, you know that!”

“Don’t call me that,” Jefferson snarled as Lafayette and Herc came out of the kitchen, Herc with a pot of water to feed the boilers, Lafayette with a tray of cookies that Alex immediately swiped two of. “And I don’t want to talk about it. Doesn’t my face tell the whole fuckin’ story, Laurens?”

His one eye was swollen and bruised, and his lip was split on the same side like he’d been punched in the mouth. Both eyes were bloodshot like he hadn’t got a lick of sleep since.

“I mean, you look like shit,” John acquiesced, “but no. It doesn’t tell the whole story, which I’m still demanding.”

“There you are,” Angelica said as she pushed her way into the shop, trailed by the rest of her sisters and Maria, holding tight to Eliza’s gloved hand. “I tried Libertwo first, and James said you headed over here, so--”

“Will you please just talk to these assholes?” Jefferson crossed his arms on top of the bar and dropped his head onto them. “They won’t leave me alone.”

“Sorry about this,” Angelica said, gesturing to Jefferson as she scooted onto the stool next to him. Peggy went behind the bar and hopped up on the counter beside John, and Maria and Eliza took the spots by the wall that Alex would forever associate with Burr and Theo. “He’s in mourning.”

“What the hell happened?” John asked. “If I have to remind you guys one more time how much I live for drama, you’re all dead to me.”

“Okay,” Angelica said. “Here’s how it went down. So Peggy kept bugging Eliza--”

“This is _not_ because Peggy was _bugging_ me--” Eliza started, but Peggy cut her off.

“Neither of you losers know how to tell a story, so buckle the fuck up and let me tell it.” She grabbed the rest of John’s cookie and got comfortable on the counter. “It was a dark and stormy night, many eons ago…”

“It was last night, and it was nice out,” Jefferson muttered from his arm cocoon. Peggy made a face.

“Okay, so it was last night and it was nice out,” she continued. “As you all know, my sister and Maria like to put their mouths on each others’ mouth--”

“For real?” John asked. Eliza beamed. “I didn’t know y’all kissed!”

“So you guys are dating?” Alex asked, peering around Angelica in time to see Maria lift and drop one shoulder as Eliza nodded behind her. Peggy cleared her throat.

“If people would _stop interrupting me_... Thank you. So Eliza and Maria have _the talk_ last night, right? Very heartwarming, hugs all around, we all knew it was happening as soon as she moved into our house, Eliza couldn’t keep her eyes off of her, yadda yadda…”

“Pegs,” Eliza said, Peggy rolled her eyes.

“Don’t stop a master storyteller from showing off her talents, ‘Liza. _Anyway_. So they decide to put it up on Facebook, right? Cute status, obviously none of you guys saw it, which is going to change, I expect likes from all of you, and then who shows up at our apartment building? _James fucking Reynolds_.”

“He found your place?” Lafayette asked. Peggy nodded.

“He must have found Eliza through Maria’s page and scrolled until he found some evidence of where we live,” she said. “What a fuckin’ creep, right?” So he’s standing there, yelling things at Eliza that we could barely hear because, like, we’re high up and he’s just a little stupid ant on the ground, so Angelica called for backup.”

“The police?” Herc asked.

Peggy made a face. “I mean, that might have been a better call.”

John raised a disdainful eyebrow. “Please tell me your backup wasn’t _Jefferson._ ”

“Oh,” Eliza said, “our backup was Jefferson.”

“So he rolls up in the Espada, right?” Peggy said, ignoring Jefferson’s moan from his place on the counter, “and it was pretty quick, ‘cause he was already out getting some stuff for Angelica, who was having mad cramps last night--”

Angelica made a noise. “Really, Peggy?”

“Come on, Ang, it’s relevant to the story.” Peggy looked around the room. “You’ll see. So Tom’s got this bag of shit from the store, like a thing of cupcakes and a bag of Twizzlers and this huge-ass box of tampons, right? And we’re all leaning out the window watching this go down. He goes up to Reynolds, who’s still yelling, and tells him to leave. Reynolds, obviously, doesn’t do that, so we all watch Thomas fucking Jefferson grab this economy-size box of tamps and smash it _right into James Reynolds’ stupid face..._ ”

John cackled. “What the _fuck_ \--”

Peggy elbowed him. “Oh, I’m not done. Reynolds is pissed, and the four of us were all just, like, leaning out Angelica’s bedroom window and _howling_ , which only makes him more pissed, so he swings at Tom, who drops all the shit he’s holding and lunges at Reynolds--”

“The cupcakes were ruined,” Eliza said wistfully.

“The truest and most real loss of the night,” Maria added, her voice solemn. Jefferson groaned.

“They go at it for a few minutes,” Peggy continued, “and I don’t even know who won, to be honest. Tom’s all beat up now, but Reynolds looked just as bad last night.”

“Reynolds looked worse,” Angelica said, and rubbed Jefferson’s shoulder. “The cupcakes didn’t die in vain.”

“So the worst part of this whole thing is,” Peggy went on, “Reynolds runs off while Tom’s distracted, gets in his car, which is this gross junker, like, a real piece of shit, and he _guns_ it--”

“He didn’t,” Herc said, shocked, and Peggy nodded.

“The whole left side of the Espada; he scraped the hell out of it. The headlight, the mirror…”

Herc made a pained noise as Lafayette took an entire handful of cake pops out of the case and deposited them in front of Jefferson, who was still hiding his face in his arms. 

“He’s being dramatic,” Angelica said matter-of-factly. “The car can be fixed, and if there’s one thing the Schuylers love throwing money at, it’s lawyers. We’ll get Reynolds on the car thing, the violating a restraining order thing, the aggravated assault thing, the being a huge jackass thing…”

“You don’t have to worry about him,” Eliza said, and pecked Maria on the cheek. John pointed.

“No PDA in our shop, Schuyler, you know the rules!”

“You’re one to talk,” Eliza said, and kissed Maria right on the mouth. The other girl’s eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly melted into Eliza with no protest. 

Before anything escalated, Washington stormed in, phone in a holster on his belt and bag slung over his shoulder. He didn’t say anything about two of his employees not being over at Libertwo, and he didn’t say anything about the extreme pile of cake pops in front of Jefferson, but instead stopped in the middle of the shop and let out a sigh towards the ceiling.

“It happened,” he said. “I fired Adams. He was always traveling up to Massachusetts, and he never gave me more than a few hours’ notice. I got quite an earful from his girlfriend, someone named Abby--”

“Abby Smith,” Alex supplied. “She came in here once. They’re dating? Good for them.”

“Not good for us,” Washington said. “This leaves us down one assistant manager, and…”

He trailed off. Looked at Jefferson.

“Is James at Libertwo right now?” he asked. Jefferson nodded, but since Alex couldn't see his face it looked like his hair just moved on its own accord. “ _Alone?_ ”

Almost quicker than Alex could follow, Jefferson shot off of the stool, grabbed his coat, and was out the door before anyone could say anything else. Alex caught a glimpse of him hailing a taxi through the bay window, and then he was gone.

“He had a rough night,” Angelica said to Washington, by way of explanation. Washington frowned.

“Have either Thomas or Mr. Burr mentioned anything about the vacant manager spot?”

“No,” Alex said from his spot behind the counter. “Every time I ask either of them about it, they clam up faster than Jefferson just bolted out of here. Who’re you giving it to?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Washington admitted. “I’m letting it lie for a while, with Maria just coming on board I think they have enough to deal with. Either way, it’s quite the decision.”

“They both want it,” Angelica said. “You can tell.”

“Has Thomas said anything to you?” Eliza asked.

“Nope,” she replied, popping the _p_. “You can just _tell_.”

“Burr isn’t even in the country,” Herc said, his voice incredulous.

“You can _tell._ ”

Herc and Peggy rolled their eyes at the same time, like the thought of Burr and Jefferson getting up in arms over a manager position at Libertwo was the most far-fetched thing they’d ever heard, more customers came in, and the work day continued. Alex and John fell into their normal routine, with Alex working the register and John making the drinks, as the sounds of Lafayette baking and arguing over something dumb with Herc floated through the kitchen window.

In a longer lull between customers, John pushed something down the bar towards him. It was his drink, a blended concoction of mocha and chocolate chips and glory, that John had created for him and hadn’t made for him in ages… Alex paused before reaching out to grab it.

John had doodled something on the side; a turtle, but not one of the normal flat turtles he usually drew on his own drinks, this was different. It was a sea turtle, intricate and well-drawn, and John had clearly taken some time on it. The shell was a pattern of swirls and geometric shapes, and Alex swore he saw the corner of John’s mouth turn up in a smile before he turned away to make another drink.

Alex took a sip, and it was the best thing he’d tasted in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Months 4-7.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com! The hashtag on all social media is #SOLTEA, and yes, I do track it!
> 
> -Gab


	32. And That Would Be Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you imagine?

**JUNE (MONTH 4)**

  
June opened with rising heat and rising tension. Burr came home from his honeymoon and had immediately gone back to work; both shops were constantly swamped day in and day out. Alex became a pro at iced coffee, and Herc’s iced tea blends were selling like tea was being made illegal.

Alex hardly ever saw the Libertwo staff. After every workday the four Libertea employees were consistently drained, and the usual routine involved the air conditioning in their apartment, the semi-circle of comfortable furniture around the TV, and some sort of takeout food. Alex was just glad the school year was over, and he could focus all of his energy on work and playing Minecraft every once in a while with John.

That routine --the air conditioning, the easy chair closest to the door, hot wings and bleu cheese dip-- was all that was on Alex’s mind as he closed one night with Lafayette. John and Herc had left an hour prior, and Alex was sweeping the floor as Lafayette cleaned the kitchen, humming loud enough to be heard through the walls.

“I’m sick of this, all right? I’m sick of it!” 

Madison’s voice preceded Madison himself as he slammed into the shop with the most intensity Alex had ever seen from his usually subdued coworker. He ran a hand across his head in a move that Alex definitely had seen Jefferson do as he started pacing, blatantly ignoring Lafayette peeking out of the kitchen window and Alex watching him wear a hole into their floor.

“Uh, Mads?” Alex finally asked after the third round of pacing. “Everything okay?”

Lafayette came out of the kitchen. “Aren’t you supposed to be closing down Libertwo tonight?”

“I left them alone,” Madison said, rolling his eyes so viciously that Alex was surprised when they didn’t cut him in half. “Thomas and Aaron. At each other's _fucking_ throats day in and day out. You wouldn’t trade Aaron for Alex again, would you?”

This was to Lafayette, who shook his head. 

“You have any idea how much work it’s taken to get him and John in the same room? You can deal with Thomas and Burr all you want. _Bonne chance, mon ami._ ”

Madison dropped into the chair closest to where Alex was standing, broom still in hand.

“Screw that.”

Alex stifled a laugh and continued chasing dust bunnies. “It’s honestly that bad over there?”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Madison accepted the brownie Lafayette passed him. “They’re at each other's’ throats constantly, and not in a sexy way. At this point, I think I would be okay with it being in a sexy way if it would get Thomas to just fucking _chill_...”

“Good luck with that,” Alex muttered. Lafayette grinned at him over Madison’s head.

“And it’s not like it stays at Libertwo,” Madison continued. “He brings it home with him, because that’s all Thomas does, starts fires and lets them spread through his whole life, and I love Angelica but all she does is feed the flames, and Eliza tried to be a mediator but she hangs out with Theo too much and I think she’s on Burr’s side...”

“ _Attendez_ ,” Lafayette said, holding out a hand. “I’m not picking _sides_ \--”

“I’m not asking you to,” Madison amended quickly. “That’s just what it’s felt like over the past few weeks, _Jefferson or Burr_ , right?”

“You know that’s lose-lose,” Alex said, and Madison rolled his eyes again and stood up.

“I should get home. Can’t miss another Jeffersonian rant about how Aaron Burr is the absolute worst idea for Libertwo since Alex Hamilton shot down the cloth napkin idea.” He looked over at Alex. “He never forgave, and he never forgot.”

Alex laughed and so did Lafayette, and together they bid Madison goodbye, good luck, and finished closing up the shop. As they walked home, a bundle of scones under Lafayette’s arm and a backpack devoid of schoolbooks for the first time in months on Alex’s back, Lafayette looked him over.

“But if you had to choose,” he asked. “Jefferson or Burr?”

Alex kicked at a dandelion growing out of a crack in the sidewalk. “I don’t know. Like I said, lose-lose. You?”

Lafayette looked like he was deep in thought.

“You’re right, you’re right. Lose-lose.”

•••

The only thing that lost in the days to follow was their friend group. It quickly split in two, with a small clump (Eliza, Maria, Theo) gathering around Burr and a smaller clump (Madison and Angelica) grouping with Jefferson.

Burr and Jefferson refused to be in the same room together apart from their shared shifts at Libertwo, and even those were on thin ice. Washington had no idea about the contentions between his employees; he’d taken Martha on a cruise for their anniversary and Lafayette was in charge for two weeks. His only rule was no physical violence. Jefferson had tried to get him to ban _people named Aaron and all variations thereof_ , but Lafayette was having none of it. 

“It’s childish,” he muttered half to Alex and John and mostly to himself as he kneaded dough one day in their apartment. “They shouldn’t even be competing for this position when they’re acting like children.”

John kicked his legs from where he was sitting on the island. “Why do they even want it so bad? Being a manager’s not that great, from what I can tell.”

“Shut your mouth, _ciel étoilé_ , and grab me that pan,” Lafayette said, and John reached behind him and handed him the metal baking sheet. “And they want it so the other can’t have it. I thought that was obvious.”

“Jefferson started it,” Alex said. “And I promise I’m not just saying that ‘cause he’s the worst. He made a big deal about being the obvious choice and that Washington was going to hand it to him ‘cause he’s known him the longest and Burr got all up in arms that he was just as qualified as Jefferson, and, well…”

“So it’s a pissing contest,” John said.

“Basically,” Alex replied.

“A what?” Lafayette asked.

“Jefferson doesn’t even need to work,” John said. “Burr has a kid on the way and everything. And I know he’s got that trust fund, but that’s probably not going to cover his entire school, right? Let alone school for his kid.”

“Theo works, too,” Lafayette said. “And in terms of qualifications…” He lifted and dropped one shoulder. “I hate this. They’re our friends, I’m not picking and choosing one over the other.”

“Amen.” John touched his nose and pointed his other pointer finger towards Lafayette. “I’m sitting this one out. They can work it out themselves and I’ll see ‘em on the other side. Ham?”

Alex started. It was still new, it was still unexpected, whenever John spoke to him.

“Ah, um, yeah. Sounds good. No picking sides.”

  


**JULY (MONTH 5)**

  
July opened in the most inconspicuous way; Alex was sure that the month had snuck up on him.

Jefferson and Burr were still up in arms, although they had dialed it back, settled down a bit. The feud had been turned down to low ever since Washington and Martha came home from their vacation, set on a burner and set to simmer, vibrating just under Washington’s radar. 

It was difficult, trying to balance friendships with both of them, but Alex was pretty sure he could do anything with John by his side again. Every day was different; sometimes John would be distant and almost cold, other days he’d laugh and joke with Alex like nothing was wrong. Alex was careful and cautious around him, let him dictate the mood, and never initiated anything. 

It was hard, but it was working.

The first time everyone got together since the whole assistant manager thing was in mid-July. Eliza was moving out of the apartment she shared with her sisters, and she’d signed the lease on an apartment three floors below that one with Maria. The two girls had been adamant about all their friends coming to help them move in, and they’d been even more adamant about everyone behaving themselves.

So Lafayette made a seven layer dip, Herc bought a few six-packs, John and Alex went half on a bunch of chips, and the four of them split a taxi to the Schuylers’ building because the temperature outside was nearing the mid-nineties. Eliza had already started decorating; she’d hung a wooden sign on one wall and there were three vases filled with flowers already.

They’d been the last ones to arrive, and Herc and Lafayette ducked into the small kitchen with Peggy and Theo as John and Alex headed over to the farthest corner, where Jefferson and Madison were trying to fit together an Ikea dresser. 

“I swear, Jem, this was designed by aliens. I need an L-shaped piece, and that doesn’t fucking exist.” Jefferson collapsed dramatically onto the floor as Alex settled down beside Madison and grabbed a screwdriver. 

Madison rolled his eyes in a good-natured sort of way and took two straight pieces and fit them together to make an L-shaped one. Alex helped him finish construction as John bantered back and forth with Jefferson, and Alex definitely didn’t miss the glares that Burr was shooting them from across the room.

“Give me a minute,” he said, handing the screwdriver back to Madison and skirting the couch to get to Burr. He and Maria were also assembling a piece of Ikea furniture; a bookshelf. Alex took a seat on a fluffy ottoman, scooting closer to the bookshelf.

“You’re pissed,” he said, by way of greeting. Maria fitted a slat in place, her raised eyebrows clearly communicating that she wasn’t getting involved.

Burr accepted the box of screws that Maria slid across the floor. “You’re all buddy-buddy with my competition, so being pissed is my natural right.” 

“Okay, first of all, never say that I’m being _buddy-buddy_ with Jefferson again,” Alex said, trying to lighten the mood, but Burr didn’t smile even a little bit. “And come on, man, I thought we were all friends. What’s with this _competition_ shit?”

“Washington said he’d announce who gets the manager position at the end of the summer,” Burr said. “Ever since then, Jefferson’s been undermining me every chance he gets. And you don’t like him, Alexander, so don’t bore me with the _we’re all friends_ talk.”

“I don’t not like him,” Alex countered. “He’s like my nemesis, but in a friend sort of way.”

“That’s idiotic.”

“Oh, come on, Aaron, what gives? You and Theo are going to have a baby soon, isn’t that enough to make you want to bury the hatchet?”

“I work harder than him,” Burr said, and put the last shelf slat in place. “I deserve that position. You know it.”

Alex didn’t answer, not because he didn’t have anything to say, but because across the room John had gotten to his feet and had moved to the kitchen. Trying to act nonchalant, he stood, pushed the ottoman out of his way with the toe of his sneaker, and also made his way across the room to the kitchen. The only open spot was by the island next to John, so he went there, accepting a bottle of Sam Adams from Herc and a friendly smile from Eliza.

He settled down beside John, leaning on his elbows and almost touching John’s shoulder with his own. This was so standard, so natural, and he’d missed it enough to make his heart pound.

“So what are we talking about?” he asked, trying to breathe normally, trying to mask the fact that even being close to John was giving him heart palpitations. “Burr just gave me an earful for sharing breathing space with Jefferson, so that happened.”

“Sorry,” Theo said. “These past couple weeks have been… Interesting.”

“You’re telling me,” Herc said, squeezing in between Peggy and Theo with a bowl of chips and some of Lafayette’s dip. Peggy stole a chip and quickly dunked it in the cheese and bean concoction, grinning at Herc when he glared. “I picked up one of Madison’s shifts a few days ago so he could get over a cold and being around the two of them was rough.”

Peggy snatched another chip. “I wish they’d stop acting like assholes. Tom’s already dragged Ang deep into it, and Burr’s got Theo ‘cause they’re married and everything, but they’re still trying to get the rest of us to pick sides and it sucks!”

“I’m not _deep into it_ ,” Angelica said, but Eliza shushed her.

“Thomas sent me flowers,” she said by way of explanation, pointing out one bouquet on the counter and another by the front door. They were big and loud, ostentatiously Jefferson. “I told him I care about him and Aaron equally, and he kept winking and saying _sure_ after everything I said.”

Lafayette and Peggy started laughing, and soon everyone gathered around the island was as well, swapping stories about the things Jefferson or Burr had done to try and get them to denounce the other. Theo was in the middle of explaining how Jefferson had offered to let her name the baby after him when Alex felt John bump his arm.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Yeah, of course,” Alex replied, matching his quiet voice tone for tone. John came off the island and Alex did too, brushing past the fridge and through the small apartment, one after the other. Alex didn’t miss Lafayette nudging Herc in the ribs, and he didn’t miss Herc’s eyebrows furrowing.

John ducked into the bathroom and, in one fluid movement, crossed the tile floor and wrenched the window open. Following him through the opening and onto the metal fire escape, Alex took in the sight of the city streets, brightly lit even in the dark night and teeming with life. John closed the window behind him and together they settled onto the creaky step, the third from the bottom, and Alex tried not to think about how close they were, how dark it was on the fire escape, how it was the first time they were voluntarily alone since he ruined everything.

He tried not to think about anything, and kept his mouth shut.

“Wow,” John finally said after what felt like an eternity of silence. “I don’t think I’ve ever not heard you talk for this long.”

“Okay, Laurens,” Alex replied, voice laced with obviously fake exasperation, “I’m trying to be better, you know that, right? Not talk as much, be less of a dick, that sort of thing.”

John huffed out what was almost a laugh through his nose, and then silence reigned again.

“I’ve been hurt a lot,” he said, after another pause that went on so long that Alex had almost spoken again. “All that stuff with my dad, with my family. But…” 

He paused, and took a breath in before continuing.

“Those pictures, seeing you with Maria and hearing you lie about it, you bribing Reynolds to keep his mouth shut, for that long…” He took another deep breath. “I’ve never been hurt like that.”

“John, I--” Alex started, but forced himself to bite back the rest of the words.

“It was crazy,” John went on, looking straight ahead like he wasn’t even talking to Alex. “I never wanted to look at you again, I never wanted to hear your voice again. It’s taking a lot out of me, you know, moving back in. Trying to be okay.”

Quiet. Until--

“I’ve been trying to learn to live with it, but it’s… I don’t know. I never thought I’d have to go through something like this. It’s unimaginable.”

Quiet. Until--

“You have to understand that this is hell for me, too.”

Quiet. 

Until John turned to him on the fire escape and looked him in the eyes. It was an invitation to speak, and Alex, for once in his life, felt every word he ever learned escape him.

Until John moved a little closer, until John’s knee brushed his, until the electricity of one touch forced him to come to grips with the reality that John was here, that John was waiting, that John was ready to hear him out.

He took a breath. 

“I’m sorry.”

John blinked. 

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness or your time or anything,” Alex continued, “but you have to know that I’m sorry. I regret what I did, I regret not handling it better, I regret not being honest. I regret taking your trust and ruining it, John, and I’m so sorry.”

John wasn’t looking at him anymore, John was looking out over the city streets and the milling people and rushing cars. Alex didn’t follow his gaze but took him in instead; the soft curls falling onto his forehead, the slope of his nose, the jagged downward turn of his eyebrows.

“Where do we go from here?” John asked quietly.

Alex didn’t look away. “Anywhere.”

John let out a small, wistful laugh at that. “I mean it. What comes next?”

“I don’t know.” Alex shifted on the fire escape, leaning down to rest his chin in his hands. “I think that’s up to you.”

John frowned. “I can do this, I guess? Where we hang out with the others and try to be okay until we figure out how to actually be okay?”

“Friendship?”

“I guess,” John replied. “I can work on friendship.”

Alex grinned down toward his knees. “I can do that too.”

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you, you know that,” John said, still not looking at Alex, gazing out into the street, illuminated by the glaring city lights. “I can’t. Not yet.”

Alex nodded, almost as an afterthought. “All that matters to me is you know.”

“Know what?”

“How much I care about you.”

John moved closer.

“I know.”

  


**AUGUST (MONTH 6)**

  
August opened like an egg onto a hot pan; bright and sizzling.

Alex didn’t mind being in the apartment, and he didn’t mind being at Libertea, it was the walk between the two that was terrible. The pavement was so hot it was sticky, Herc shaved his head almost once a day (he claimed he could feel the hair growing), and both John and Alex consistently raided Lafayette’s stash of headbands. Even Jefferson had his hair tied back every time Alex saw him, _that’s_ how hot it was.

The hottest day of the year fell on a Friday, with record-breaking temperatures in the city and heat-related fury at an all time high. Instead of work, however, they closed both shops, all piled into a fifteen-passenger van rented by Washington, and, with a few stops to pick up non-employees, headed to Maine.

Martha, in the front seat with the air conditioning on blast, explained that one of her friends owned a house by the beach, and let them use it a few weekends out of the year. She’d convinced Washington to close and invited them all along for some relief from the heat. Theo stretched her legs onto the cooler in between Washington (driving) and his wife, both hands on her round stomach.

“And you’re sure this is okay for me?”

Martha reassured her that yes, it was, and she was a month away from her due date, give or take a few days, and the group of them quickly settled into vacation mode. Alex was squished in the far back of the van with John, Lafayette, and Eliza, the next seat was Jefferson, Madison, Angelica, and Maria, while Peggy, Herc, Burr, and Theo were in the first row. Martha banned her husband from picking any music, Peggy brought along a bag of candy, and John and Alex made a drinking game with a half-gone bottle of lemonade; every time Burr made a snide comment about Jefferson they’d drink, every time Jefferson kicked the back of Burr’s seat they’d drink, and every time Herc discreetly kissed the side of Peggy’s forehead they’d drink. 

The lemonade was gone before they got on the highway.

The trip to Maine passed quickly and uneventfully, with Washington and Martha singing old show tunes in the front seats, Burr making snippy comments to Jefferson until Theo hit the back of his head, and John and Alex playing the alphabet game loudly in the back until most of them joined in (Angelica won). Martha’s friend’s house was large and comfortable, and Alex ended up sharing a three-bed room with John and Lafayette. Somehow, Herc had gotten his own room next door, but Peggy was in there with him more often than not.

That weekend was hotter than any time they’d spent in the city, but they had the ocean, they had the tiny pool in the house’s backyard, they had Eliza’s cooler full of drinks, they had the freezer Martha stocked with ice cream sandwiches and individual cups of Italian ice. 

Alex spent most of the time in his board shorts and nothing much else, swimming in the ocean with Lafayette and Peggy, playing beach volleyball with the Washingtons or paddleball with Madison, building sandcastles over Theo’s feet while she read in a chair by the water, or walking along the shore with John looking for intact shells. 

They weren’t in New York, and they were happy.

Eliza and Maria held hands as they jumped over waves, Jefferson and Angelica laid out towels in the sun on either side of Madison’s umbrella, Washington and Martha took long walks on the beach, Burr tried on all of Theo’s sunhats, Herc and Peggy shared ice cream, Lafayette complained about his significant other being in France (and then took Herc and Peggy’s ice cream), and John laughed at every single one of Alex’s jokes, even the bad ones.

No animosity existed in Maine. Even Burr and Jefferson tolerated each other.

John even brought a brand new sketchbook and a baggie of charcoal pencils on the trip, and, the first night when they were all crowded in the living room watching a movie, Alex caught a glimpse of what he was drawing. 

It was him, it was Alex, with his toes dug in the wet sand and hands shoved into the pocket of his sweatshirt, looking out over the water as the sun set. John’s pencil flew over paper, catching the minute details (the shells speckled across the sand, the gull flying under the sun’s rays, the foam gathering on the shore after every wave passed), and Alex watched and didn’t say a word.

Even when he’d signed the completed sketch and moved onto the next one (a replication of the lighthouse painting Washington had hung in the kitchen), Alex kept thinking about it. 

When they traveled back to New York and settled back into normal life, working Libertea and avoiding the conflict over at the other shop and trying friendship and dancing around _something more_ , almost touching but never quite, Alex kept thinking about it.

And one night, when he was curled up on the couch with an old episode of _How I Met Your Mother_ on the TV and a can of Sprite quickly going flat on the floor, thinking about that drawing, John joined him, sleepily moving closer and putting his head on Alex’s shoulder. 

The drawing was good, but it had nothing on that.

  


**SEPTEMBER (MONTH 7)**

  
September opened and it was a breath of fresh air, like a door leading into a dark basement; a little chilly, a little unknown, but full of possibility.

Maria had started a few classes at the same university Alex went to, and they sometimes walked to campus together, usually on Tuesdays when their schedules intersected. He brought her Lafayette’s cake pops from Libertea, she brought him a flower from whatever bouquet Eliza had in their apartment, and every once in a while Madison would join them with his subtle jabs about the state of Alex’s hair, soft laughs for Maria’s jokes, and complaints about whatever Jefferson had been saying about Burr.

Alex knew Madison was trying to be impartial, but he got so prickly and affectionate whenever he talked about Jefferson, and it was obvious he was failing. 

Washington seemed to be oblivious to the whole thing. He was never around whenever Jefferson and Burr really went at it, and whenever he was at Libertwo, they did their best to act civil. Alex figured he just didn’t want to dig into his employees’ personal lives, and left it at that, until one afternoon when Washington called him upstairs into his office.

“Someone’s in _trouble_ ,” Herc sang from by the wall of tea canisters, and, by the espresso machine, John snickered. 

“Maybe Alex is Libertwo’s new manager,” he joked. “God, imagine how pissed Burr and Jefferson would be.”

Alex threw a good natured middle finger over his shoulder as he headed into the kitchen. The wood slats leading up to Washington's office creaked under his sneakers as he climbed, knowing that he shouldn't be nervous but still feeling it in the pit of his stomach. 

“Mr. Hamilton,” Washington said as soon as he poked his head into the office, and gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

The office hadn’t changed much since the last time Alex had been there. A few pictures had been added to the wall; one of Burr and Theo’s wedding party in a white frame, a few of Washington and Martha on their cruise, and one photobooth strip Alex remembered John giving Martha after their mini vacation to Maine. It was the four of them, Alex, John, Herc, and Lafayette, all crammed together in a tiny booth on the boardwalk. The best frame was the third one, when Herc had tried to kiss John on the cheek but he’d turned at the last second, with Alex and Lafayette losing their collective shit in the background.

“Laf has the other half of that,” Alex commented as he sat down. “I think he’s using it as a bookmark.”

“I’m glad Mr. Laurens gave me his half,” Washington replied. “I want to see you all be happy, which is, coincidentally, what I want to talk to you about.”

_John_ , Alex thought. _What else could it be? Washington’s been civil since the whole thing happened, but maybe I’m just kidding myself? Maybe he’s switching me back to Libertwo, maybe he doesn’t want me working around John anymore, maybe John said something? Maybe--_

“It’s about Thomas and Aaron,” Washington said, and Alex did his best not to slump down into his chair in relief. “I know what they’ve been doing, and it’s going to end. I need a manager for Libertwo, but I can’t have the two of them at each other's’ throats every second of every day.”

“Who’re you picking?” Alex asked quickly, and then amended. “Sir?”

“That’s what I brought you up here for. If you had to choose--”

“You can’t… Sir, I don’t want to pick sides, they’re both my friends--”

“Your views won’t affect my decision at all,” Washington said, his voice steady and calming. “I know you’re friends with both Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Burr, and that’s exactly why I want to hear your thoughts. You have a lot of thoughts, son, and I can promise they won’t leave this room.”

“They won’t know?” Alex asked.

“Absolutely not.”

“I think you should pick Jefferson,” he said quickly. “Not that Burr wouldn’t be a good choice, but his whole life is changing, with the baby, and with Theo, and with school, you know? He’s pulled in too many different directions and… I don’t know, with the responsibility of the whole shop on him, well, I know what it’s like to be stretched so thin you snap, sir, and...” 

Washington looked at him then, his brown eyes warm and full of affection. Alex almost broke down right then and there; that look, that endearing, heart-rendering, ultimately paternal look was something he’d fight for, die for, go to war against any enemies and any armies for. He shifted in his chair, not uncomfortable under the gaze, but almost wishing it wasn’t on him.

“I fucked up,” he managed to get out, “with John, I mean. I know you were mad at me, but--”

“Son,” Washington said. “I was never angry with you. You made a mistake, and I was doing my best to protect John how he wanted to be protected. I know you, and I know you’ll make this right in your own way, on your own time. I know that you’re trying. Am I wrong?”

Alex shifted again. “No.”

Washington smiled slightly and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers over a pile of paperwork. 

“I have my eyes on you, you know?” he asked. “You and any other person that comes through the door of my shop. I watch, I observe, and you know what I see?”

Alex shook his head, out of words for once.

“I see a young man who changes everyone he comes in contact with.” Washington lifted both eyebrows and kept his steady gaze on Alex. “I see a young man who is passionate and kind, I see a young man who has, in the year he’s worked for me, smashed every expectation I had for any employee under my command. Son?”

“Yeah?” Alex asked, the word somehow coming out of his mouth despite the knot in his throat.

“I have full faith in you.” Washington rapped his knuckles twice on the polished top of his desk. “Now let’s go make some coffee.”

•••

Alex and John had started to go on walks together.

It began almost on accident, when Lafayette was making stuffed peppers for dinner but had forgotten the peppers, and sent Alex down to the bodega to get some. John had come with, the bodega had been closed, and they’d walked twenty-three blocks to the grocery store instead. As the weather changed and the leaves fell and the wind became laced with crisp autumn, their walks got longer and longer. 

John would step on each crunchy leaf and rate the noise it made on a scale from one to ten, Alex would try and jump from bench to bench, John would take pictures of every sunset, Alex would savor every time he’d laugh. It was nice.

(It was more than nice. It was wonderful, brilliant, a staggering miracle of mind-blowing gravity.)

And one day, when they were weaving their slow-paced way through Central Park (it was getting a little on the dusky side, but John had brought a baggie full of stale bread ends and was adamant about feeding the ducks), Alex’s phone rang. It was Martha, and Theo had had her first contraction. 

They took a cab home, and, with Herc and Lafayette, huddled around the phone. People trickled in; Eliza and Maria were the first ones over, followed by Madison and Angelica. Peggy came around ten, Jefferson in tow, and the ten of them, in sweatpants and zip-up hoodies and patterned socks and slippers, waited.

The analog clock on Lafayette’s DVD player had just ticked past three in the morning when someone’s phone started buzzing. It was Eliza’s, and she picked it up with anxious hands.

“Hello?” she answered. “Yeah, we’re all here. At Gil and John and them’s place. Okay? Yes! We’ll be there. Cabs, I don’t think Thomas is going to be able to drive at all. Okay! See you soon.”

Eliza reached over and shook Maria awake, and Alex nudged John and Herc.

“Martha’s taking her and Burr to the hospital,” Eliza said, loud enough for everyone in the room, sprawled over various pieces of furniture, to hear. “It’s happening, we gotta go!”

Alex was with John, Jefferson, Angelica, and Lafayette in the first cab they could hail. Jefferson was still asleep with his head on Angelica’s shoulder, and Lafayette was in the front with the driver, making light small talk in French. He was talking about the weather, and Alex was pretty sure that their cab driver didn’t speak French.

They met up with everyone else in the hospital’s waiting room; Maria curled in a chair with her head on Eliza’s lap, Washington standing with Madison in front of the coffee dispenser, Burr pacing a hole in the floor, sending intermittent glares towards Jefferson, still comatose in a chair next to Angelica. Peggy immediately wiggled her way in between Alex and John, draping her blanket over both of their shoulders and handing Alex a metal flask.

He took a sip. “Is this _whiskey?_ ”

Peggy took it back and passed it to John. “I’m the only one that came prepared.”

“Hey, let me get a nip,” Herc said, and the flask made it’s way around the room, to Washington, to Angelica, to Madison, who poured some in his coffee. Burr refused, and completed another lap around the waiting room, hands shoved into his pockets, worrying his lip between his teeth.

The clock ticked on. Martha came back and summoned Burr to the delivery room and he left, with one final, nervous smile towards the group. Jefferson raided the vending machines as soon as he was awake enough to function, dropping a pile of cheese curl bags and Twix bars and cherry danishes in the middle of where Eliza had set up camp (she’d brought blankets, apple cider, and everything). They watched bad TV on the only channel the hospital offered, listening to Washington complain about the hospital’s coffee and talking in hushed tones about nothing at all as they sat and waited.

Alex had just started to doze off, warm and almost comfortable next to John on the floor, when the double-doors slammed open and Burr emerged, a blue hospital gown covering his clothes and the widest smile Alex had ever seen on his face.

“Come meet my daughter,” he said. “What are you waiting for?”

Eliza shot to her feet and helped Maria up as Herc whooped, and, somehow, Alex was the first one to meet Burr at the door.

“Congrats, man,” Alex said, and threw an arm around Burr’s shoulder, grunting in surprise when the other man pulled him into an unexpected hug.

“I’m a dad, Alexander.”

Alex huffed out a laugh and pushed Burr off of him. “Let’s go see her!”

Martha met them outside of the delivery room, holding the door open so they could all file in. It was quiet and almost reverent, the way they crowded into the room and arranged themselves around the bed. Theo herself was tired and sweaty, her dreadlocks coiled on top of her head in a haphazard pile, but she was beaming.

“Here she is,” she said, grinning up at Burr first before lifting the bundle in her arms. Alex caught a glimpse of a shock of black hair before the baby started crying, screaming frustrations about being alive to the hospital’s ceiling. Theo laughed back, looking down at her daughter with admiration and pure, unadulterated joy.

“Her name is Theodosia,” Burr said, also gazing down at the bundle of rage in his wife’s arms. “It’s a family name, so we decided to keep the tradition going.” 

“What are you calling her?” Jefferson asked as Martha took the baby and passed her to Eliza, who cooed at her for a heartbeat before passing her to Herc. “I mean, Theo’s her nickname, so what are you calling little Theo? You know, so we don’t get confused.”

Burr bristled, his eyebrows furrowing like he hadn’t remembered Jefferson was in the room.

“Since you know everything, Thomas, what do you think we should name her? Please, by God, let me know what we should call our child, Jefferson, you ineligible _fucking_ \--”

“Babe,” Theo said quietly. “Cursing makes her cry harder.”

Burr took a deep breath and Jefferson quirked an eyebrow, looking down on the blanket bundle currently cradled in Madison’s arms.

“What about Teddy?”

Burr rounded on him. “What?”

Jefferson actually took a step back at that, lifting his hands in surrender. “Teddy, you know, like a nickname for Theodosia.”

Theo laid her hand on Burr’s arm. “I love that.”

“Teddy,” Burr said, and relaxed, softened, and looked over at Jefferson with something between a grimace and an actual smile. “That’s… It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Just say you love it too and we can move on,” Jefferson said, grinning his trademark sharp grin down at the baby still in Madison’s arms. “G’morning, Teddy. Just remember who named you. Uncle Thomas, he’s the best…”

“Oh, shut up,” Angelica said, and held out her arms for the baby. Madison passed her over, and Angelica held her for a while before she handed her over to Alex. 

It was indescribable, Alex would think later, what holding a newborn felt like. The tiniest bundle of life, of heaving breaths and short screams, of already curling hair and tiny fingers and the smallest, scrunched nose possible. She was beautiful in the sort of way that things aren’t always beautiful, in a breathtaking sort of way, in a reminder that the world is a real, living place and that everyone leaves their fingerprints on it sort of way. 

“Hello, Teddy,” he whispered, and John leaned over his shoulder.

“Sup, homie,” he said, and Alex grinned. “Welcome to New York. It’s a little crazy sometimes, but there’s good coffee here, and we’re all pretty cool, and you have some kickass parents. I promise you’re gonna have a great stay.”

“We’ll show you the ropes,” Alex added. He felt John’s chin bump his shoulder as he nodded.

“See, me and your uncle Alex go way back. Parts of our story suck, but parts of it are really great, and it’s not over yet. You’re part of it too, now, you know? Our new friend Theodosia.”

“Want to hold her?” Alex asked. John shook his head.

“I don’t want to break her,” he said, and nodded at Lafayette, who was beside Herc, making subtle grabby hands towards John and the baby. “And I think Laf wants next.”

Alex handed Teddy over to Lafayette and looked over at John.

“Our story’s not over yet, huh?”

John’s eyes scrunched up as he grinned, his freckles illuminated under the harsh hospital lights, and, as Theo took the tiny bundle of Teddy back into her arms, he stepped closer to Alex and, quietly, gently, took his hand.

“What’s this?” Alex asked, almost not believing the roughness of John’s calloused thumb on the back of his hand, the warmth of their tangled fingers, the sureness of John’s grip. 

“I don’t want her growing up in a world where we’re not okay,” he said, his voice low and solemn. “I want to be okay.”

John leaned into him, and it was like a fog had lifted, it was like driving out of a tunnel into blinding sunlight, it was like coming home. 

It was forgiveness, and it was unimaginable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: _You knock me out, I fall apart._
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com! The hashtag on all social media is #SOLTEA, and yes, I do track it!
> 
> -Gab


	33. I'm Dedicating Every Day To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theo and Burr adjust to life with their new daughter, Alex and John adjust to life with each other.

Theodosia Bartow-Burr crossed her legs on the apartment floor, grunting a little with effort as she hefted her daughter in her arms and settled her on her legs. Teddy was crying, but there wasn’t a moment of the day when Teddy wasn’t crying. Little fists in the air, nose all scrunched, _wailing_. 

Aaron had texted her and asked if she’d tried Mozart. She wanted to wring his damn neck.

Still, life wasn’t all shitty diapers and screaming babies. Teddy was beautiful; she had these wide, dark eyes, roving everywhere and hungrily taking in the world just like her dad, and curly hair that Theo knew would grow in thick and wild, the same as hers. Theo loved her time alone with Teddy while Aaron was at work. She loved having a constant, tiny companion when she was painting, loved taking pictures of her for future blog posts, loved waltzing slowly around the apartment, singing Busta Rhymes under her breath until Teddy fell asleep. 

She was trying that now, muttering bits and pieces of Busta’s verse from _Don’t Cha_ as she gently bounced her up and down, Tuesday morning sunlight streaming throughout the apartment. The plan was to get her to calm down, and then get her to sleep long enough to let Theo write a blog post and maybe send Eliza a few pictures to edit. Even though she was self-employed, the schedule waited for no man, let alone a tiny five-week-old girl named Teddy.

Theo’s phone buzzed, and that was enough to set Teddy off again. Rolling her eyes and heaving herself up off the floor, Theo balanced the baby on her hip as she leaned across the island to grab her phone. Angelica’s contact picture briefly flashed onto the screen before she answered it.

“Bitch, I hope you have a good reason for this,” Theo said, jiggling Teddy as she walked around the kitchen. “You hear that? Yeah, it’s my daughter, and she’s fuckin’ _pissed_.”

Angelica laughed. “When was the last time you got out of the house? We miss you.”

“Well,” Theo answered, transferring Teddy to her other hip with the dexterity and skill of an Olympic gymnast, “I got out of the hospital four and a half weeks ago, so… That long.”

“You and Aaron haven’t left the house in _over a month?_ ”

“Aaron does, you know, with work and everything, and I went grocery shopping yesterday but even that was cut short when princess over here started shrieking…”

“Come hang out with us at Libertea today,” Angelica interrupted. Something was going on in the background; Theo couldn’t make out specifics but it sounded like Peggy was either yelling obscenities or sword fighting with someone. Maybe both. “We’ll take turns holding Teddy, and Tom just told me that Washington’s over at Libertwo today, so if you need to you can hide up in his office. Come on! Don’t make me beg, Theo.”

“You promise you won’t hate hanging out with me? I’m an old married lady, Ang, I have a _kid_ \--”

“Shut up,” Angelica said, and Theo could tell she was laughing. “ _Old married lady_ my ass. I have the car, I can pick you guys up in a half hour?”

Theo glanced down at Teddy, half-asleep and not screaming for once, her tiny fists balled in Theo’s soft cashmere sweater. She needed to change out of her _Star Wars_ pajama pants, she needed to find her liquid eyeliner for the first time since she came home from the hospital, she needed to finish a blog post, and, if she was being honest, a coffee shop surrounded by her friends would be the best place for her to do that last one.

“If she starts yelling I’m making John hold her,” Theo warned. Angelica laughed again.

“You know John would rather die, right?”

“Aaron took it as a personal offense when he wouldn’t hold her at the hospital.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Angelica said. “So, half hour? You in?”

“I’m in,” Theo replied, and she heard the subtle yet distinct sound of two people high-fiving. She hung up after saying goodbye to both Angelica and Peggy, nestled Teddy in her car seat gently enough to avoid more screaming, and got ready in record time. With her hair up and a sweatshirt and leggings on (fall still lingered, but it was mid-October and starting to get cold), Theo picked up the car seat by its handle and went to wait on the curb. 

She didn't have to wait long. Angelica peeled around the corner with the dexterity and grace of a NASCAR driver; almost as reckless as Jefferson, although Theo would never tell her that. The entire way to Libertea consisted of the three girls catching up, Peggy in the back seat with Teddy, Theo, nervous and riding shotgun, and Angelica, with one hand draped casually over the wheel and the other flipping through radio stations. 

Theo learned that, in her semi-hiatus from the group, Alex and John had started to slowly mend their relationship, starting with holding hands in the delivery room, to taking walks together, to almost reaching the level of insufferable their combined presence used to before the whole Reynolds incident. She learned that Jefferson was still pissed at Burr, something she had already known from sharing a house with Aaron. She learned that the Espada had been fixed, and that James Reynolds had moved to another state to avoid the Schuylers.

“How’s Maria doing?” Theo asked as they settled down at Libertea’s big table. Peggy took Teddy out of her carrier, balancing her on her hip as she took sporadic sips from the biggest cup of mocha and whipped cream that Theo had ever seen. Angelica set the car seat on the floor as Theo went to hang her coat on the rack.

“Maria’s fine,” Peggy answered. “Her and Eliza are really hot-and-heavy, though. It’s nice, but this is her first real relationship in so long…”

“Peggy’s worried,” Angelica said, returning to the table with a drink for Theo and a napkin full of cookies and one of Lafayette’s blueberry muffins. “They’re good together, though. I’d step in if they weren’t.”

“And you?” Theo asked, taking the muffin and breaking a piece off of the bottom. “How are your boys?”

“Good, whenever Tom’s not ranting about Burr,” Angelica replied. “Which, I mean, I'm sure you know what that's like.”

“How's James handling it?”

Angelica lifted and dropped one shoulder. “How James handles everything. Quietly and with grace.” 

Theo nodded like she understood. In reality, she didn’t know James well enough to know his temperament, she didn’t know Thomas well enough to banter back and forth with Angelica and Peggy about the two of their relationship, and she knew Aaron too well to not want to defend his right to be manager.

In reality, she said she hadn’t picked sides, but she was firmly on the Burr side of the spectrum. Hell, it was the newest addition to her last name.

Peggy then deftly changed the subject to the fall decorations Lafayette and Herc had been putting up around Libertea, and the three of them joked and criticized the leaves wrapped around the door frame and the wreath of apples and twigs hanging behind the register on the kitchen door, until Lafayette himself joined them at the table to defend his decorating skills. John took his place when he was on his lunch break, Alex joined him with two sandwiches and a can of Coke (which Theo took sips of when he wasn’t looking), and the criticism turned to how John refused to hold Teddy.

He wouldn’t be swayed, and eventually Theo gave Teddy to Alex and went behind the counter with John, where he gave her a quick lesson on the register and let her help him make a few drinks for the customers that kept breezing through. Between yelling across the shop at Peggy to stop taking Teddy's socks off (she liked to try and fit them over her big toe, for some reason she found it hilarious), to John laughing at her whenever she accidentally let a cup run over or she put too much of a flavored syrup in someone’s hot drink, Theo’s first outing since Teddy was born was chaotic and exactly what she needed.

It was exactly what Teddy needed, too. She was passed out at seven o’clock, and, shortly after finishing her weekly blog post, so was Theo.

  


•••

  
Aaron Burr had a daughter, and it was terrifying.

He tried to explain it to Madison during one of his shifts at Libertwo; the intense, visceral fear he experienced every day he was away from Teddy, the panic that gripped him every time she so much as hiccupped, the flight instinct that still wove its way into his heart whenever he’d pick her up or take her from Theo.

Burr was sure he was never meant for domestic life. Babies and diapers and tiny little socks scattered all over his apartment wasn’t exactly how he’d foreseen his life turning out, and he’d told Theo that one night, as Teddy slept fitfully on the couch between them, between sips of Maker’s Mark. She cried, and so had Burr, two people who had made another tiny person, two people who hadn’t had the greatest family life growing up, two people awfully scared of the future.

They’d held each other that night, wrapped around Teddy, and told her unremembering ears how her very existence honest-to-God petrified them. 

“She’s just a tiny little thing, you know?” Burr said to Madison one morning, a few days after that. “What if something happens? What if I do something that I don’t even know is a problem until she’s like _thirty?_ _What if I’m a shitty parent?_ ”

“I’m pretty sure no one’s really a good parent,” Madison replied, kneading dough. He was attempting to bake bread for the first time, and Burr could see his phone, lit up with Lafayette’s number on speed dial. Libertwo was slow for a Wednesday morning, and Burr had ducked back into the kitchen for some human interaction, smirking to himself when Jefferson immediately pushed past him back into the main shop. They’d stopped verbally attacking each other since Teddy had been born, and instead had moved on to flat-out ignoring the other's existence. “She’s cute, though, so good job with that.”

Burr looked down at Teddy, nestled in her carrier on the kitchen’s big table, tiny mouth yawning. “Yeah. She’s… Something else.”

“When are you and Thomas going to get it together?” Madison asked, deftly changing the subject as a puff of flour clouded into the air. Burr blinked back the moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes and refocused. “I normally would let y’all do your own thing, but we work in the same place, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“You’re the one dating him,” Burr shot back without any real malice. He’d never been able to aim the same disdain he felt for Jefferson onto Madison, despite how close the two were. “Why don’t you talk to him? Get him to stop acting, well, like himself?”

“You’re just as bad,” Madison said placidly, still kneading. “And I prefer to let Thomas do his own thing. Micromanaging people never works, especially people you love.”

“You know that from experience?”

Madison shot him a very composed dirty look. “Maybe _you_ should talk to him.”

“I’d rather die.”

“Now you sound like Alex.”

Burr placed a hand over his heart. “You _wound_ me, James.”

Madison snorted as he looked at his phone, bending down and pressing the button with his elbow to make the screen light up. Burr got a glimpse of a long text from Lafayette before the screen went dark again and Madison began shaping the dough into small loaves.

“Half the texts Gil sends me are in French,” he said, by way of explanation, sliding Burr half of the dough in an invitation to help. “I think because Thomas and Angelica both know it, he thinks that, by association, I should know it, too. Which is probably true.”

Burr grabbed Madison’s phone before putting his hands in the dough, and looked at Lafayette’s text. “He says if you preheated the oven you should be fine.”

Madison hummed in reply and together the two of them split the dough into smaller loaves and covered them in individual towels. The towels had a pattern of tiny Eiffel towers and French phrases, and Burr gave Madison his best side-eye.

“Are these Jefferson’s?”

Madison replied with a highly sardonic eye roll. “Remember when he was your best man? In _your wedding?_ ”

“That was before all this.”

“All _what?_ ” Madison snatched the rest of the towels out of Burr’s hands to cover the remaining loaves. “A dumb manager position? Come on, Aaron, you’re better than this. Thomas, well, it’s pretty standard for Thomas. But _still._ ”

“I have a family to take care of,” Burr argued.

“You also have your parents’ bank account,” Madison countered. “Don’t think I don’t know who your family is, _Burr_. And don’t counter with _Jefferson’s rich too, James_ , because I know.”

“Then why are you on his side?”

“I’m not on a side,” Madison said, “and it’s a little offensive that you think it’s gotten that low. I just know your ambitions, I know you have a job already--”

“I’m an intern, James.”

“Which leads to a job, _Aaron_. Don’t you think those people at your firm saw your last name and your credentials and immediately made a spot for you? Your future’s not here.”

“And Jefferson’s is?”

“Jefferson can do what he wants,” Madison said with a shrug of his shoulders. “And so can you, I suppose.”

Maria poked her head into the kitchen. “Aaron, if I don’t hold your daughter in the next three seconds, I’m going to physically explode.”

Burr laughed and picked up the carrier, holding the door open with his shoe as he passed Teddy over to Maria. “Be careful. And don’t let Jefferson look at her.”

“That’s just cruel,” Madison said from his place by the oven as Maria promised she wouldn’t, took the carrier, and let the kitchen door swing shut. “You know she’s going to let him hold her.”

“I know,” Burr said. “He still thinks he’s Teddy’s godparent.”

“I just don’t understand why the two of you can’t just get over it and be friends again.”

Burr grabbed a rag and started cleaning the kitchen counter. “We’ll see what happens when Washington picks one of us.”

The rest of the day passed in relative inactivity. Burr manned the cash register and created drinks quickly and efficiently, laughing at Maria and Eliza as they commanded a table by the window and played with his daughter. He didn’t talk to Jefferson again, but also didn’t say anything when Eliza passed Teddy to over him, and even cracked a smile when she spit up a little on the collar of his shirt.

He caught Madison’s eye, who was giving him a _he used to be your best man_ , sort of look, which Aaron resolutely ignored. He turned away to fill a large cup with coffee, thinking about moving up in the world, internships and manager positions, and what he’d do to get what he wanted.

  


•••

  
John Laurens stretched out, felt his back crack twice, and collapsed back down on his mattress in a huff of outward breath and blankets. A light breeze ghosted across his bare chest; he hadn’t bothered closing his window the night before (he’d been listening to the couple upstairs argue about everything from popcorn brands to lube preference, and it had been so entertaining he didn’t even remember falling asleep), so he flipped over, pulling a blanket over his head and officially cocooning himself away from the outside world.

He had twenty minutes until his Thursday alarm for work would go off, and in those twenty minutes, he planned on getting some serious Instagram scrolling in, until he got a very important text.

**who puts the “glad” in “gladiator”?? & Two Others**

HM: pancakes in 15

John shot out of bed faster than he ever had in his life, slamming the window closed and tugging on a sweatshirt as his phone kept buzzing.

**who puts the “glad” in “gladiator”?? & Two Others**

GdM: I bought a new bag of chocolate chips!

HM: where? tf

GdM: Bottom left drawer ami

AH: have i ever told you how much i love you??? both of you??

AH: AND JOHN OFC

JL: im fucxi ng coming sAvE ME SOME

He skidded into the kitchen and into a chair beside Alex as Herc slid the first stack of pancakes onto the table. Some had blueberries, some had chocolate chips, and some had both. Those were for John, and he forked a few onto another plate as he listened to Herc and Lafayette banter back and forth in the kitchen about the merits of Herc’s chocolate chip pancakes versus Lafayette’s cinnamon sugar waffles.

“They both suck!” John yelled. “Now get in here so we can eat these motherfuckers, huh?”

Herc laughed. “Shut up, Laurens, and hurry up; we still have to work!”

John nudged Alex in the ribs as he reached across the table for the syrup. He looked _good_ , freshly showered, jeans and a t-shirt good, and John wanted to drag him to the couch, fall into his arms, and not get up until the next day or two. 

It had been weird, trying to date again, but the kind of weird that felt worth it in the end. Teddy being born had been what did it for John, when he’d been faced with that squirming bundle of new life, he’d paused. Stopped in his mental tracks right there in the harshly lit hospital room, everything that had gone wrong and everything that had the chance to go right in his and Alex’s relationship.

He’d paused and asked himself if he wanted to try again.

The answer to that, held in Teddy’s tightly clenched baby fists, in the sweatshirt of Alex’s that John had stolen to wear to the hospital, in Alex’s warm eyes as he looked down at Burr and Theo’s newborn daughter, was overwhelmingly _yes_.

He’d been reassured time and time again that _yes_ was the correct answer. Every time Alex texted him good morning, despite them sleeping right down the hall from each other, _yes_. Every time Alex’s lips ghosted across John’s cheek as he dozed off on the couch, _yes_. Every time they worked together, falling into the well-choreographed dance that they’d perfected behind the bar at Libertea, stepping around each other in time and handing off cups filled with steaming coffee and throwing pens and lids and straws, _yes_.

Alex tossed him his coat after they cleaned off the breakfast dishes, and, as he reached out his arm to snatch it out of midair, John felt it stir in his heart again. _Yes_.

“You know I like you a lot,” he said as the four of them walked down the sunrise-streaked city sidewalk. Alex grabbed his hand and squeezed it, and together they meandered behind Herc and Lafayette until they were far ahead. Alex squeezed his hand again.

“I’m so happy.”

John grinned over at him. “Glad I can help.”

“Shut up,” Alex said, kicking his shin as they walked. “You know you’re my favorite person in the entire world, right?”

“You kidding?” John answered, keeping his tone light, trying to hide the way his heart did a double backflip worthy of qualifying for the Olympics as he looked over at Alex, tired and beautiful, dark thumbprints pressed under his eyes, bathed in sunlight. “I thought it was maybe, like, Washington. Or Peggy, or even Jefferson…”

Alex sniffled. John looked over quickly, his curls flying.

“Shit, Ham, what the fuck!”

Alex swiped an arm across his eyes like he was pretending nothing was wrong. “Nothing’s wrong, John, it’s just--”

“You don’t start crying when nothing’s wrong,” John said, pulling on Alex’s hand and forcing him to stop. “If you don’t want to talk about it it’s fine, but you know I’m here for you, right? Did I say something wrong?”

“Nothing like that,” Alex said quickly. His nose was red and his eyes were still watery, John looked on with wide eyes as he ran his hand down his face. “I thought I was never going to get to do this with you again. Walk down the street, hold hands. I thought I lost you forever.”

John hugged him then, pulling him close and nestling into his dark hair. Alex smelled like ink and coffee and spice from whatever shampoo he was using, and John pressed himself closer with probably more force than necessary. 

“I forgave you,” he said into Alex’s hair and shoulder and sweatshirt. “It’s done. I love you, Alex, I love you.”

Alex sniffled harder, and John laughed.

“You smell good.”

That’s when Alex broke away, pushing John down the sidewalk and following soon after, crying in earnest but doing his best to hide it. They kept walking, until Libertea was in sight. John kicked the back of Alex’s shin.

“You’re not going to say it back?”

“Say what back?”

“I told you I loved you, you dipshit!”

Alex pulled him across the shop’s threshold, looking back with shining, bloodshot eyes and the softest, most vulnerable grin on his usually wild face. He was captivating, and John didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. He laughed, and so did John, and so did the wind blowing outside and the leaves falling to the ground and the bright and irresistible watercolor sunrise.

“I love you, John Laurens, I love you, I love you, I love you!”

  


•••

  


Alex Hamilton looked at himself in Herc’s full-size mirror, up and down, down and up, mentally criticizing everything he saw. Scuffed up shoes? _Check._ Hole in the knee of his jeans? _Check_. Undone tie because he had no idea how to knot it properly? _Check_.

He’d asked John for the first time if he wanted to go on a date, and John had said yes.

They’d gone out before, but that was just the two of them, walking and talking, or going to see a movie, holding each others’ tentative hands in the dark. This was different, this was official, this was a restaurant and a Friday night reservation he’d booked on Eliza’s recommendation, which meant that it was _nice_. Not a place for Converse and untied ties.

He tore it off his neck and threw it on Herc’s bed. If Herc was _home_ he’d ask him, but both he and Lafayette were still at Libertea, helping Washington move furniture in time for the floors to get professionally cleaned, and there was no way Alex was digging through Herc’s prized closet without him there to help. Really, there was only one course of action.

**Asshole Supreme**

AH: are you home?

TJ: yeeessss

TJ: why?

AH: okay, so i’m taking john out tonight but i have nothing to wear

AH: i’m kind of freaking out about it

AH: it’s the first time we’ve really “gone out” since everything, and

AH: i just want to look nice and herc’s not home and

TJ: OK!!!

TJ: god

TJ: come up whenever

TJ: the whole squads here tho so prepare 2 get Roasted

Angelica opened the door, looking warm and content in one of Jefferson’s robes, looked him up and down, made a muttered comment that Alex didn’t quite catch, and ushered him into the apartment. It looked a lot more lived in now that Madison (officially) and Angelica (unofficially) had moved in; there were more pictures and magazine clippings and ripped newspaper articles stuck to the refrigerator, more coats on the hooks by the door, and more bottles of wine on the rack on the counter.

Jefferson and Madison were in the living room, and it looked like the combined efforts of both of their closets were strewn across every item of furniture they owned. Jefferson tossed him a blazer right as Madison asked--

“How big are your feet?”

And Jefferson said--

“Well _that’s_ sexual.”

And Alex pulled on the blazer overtop his ratty blue t-shirt. Jefferson pointed at him.

“Yes. That’s good. Not the shirt, burn it, but the blazer’s nice. How do you feel about _purple?_ Because I--”

“No purple,” Angelica said, and grabbed two pieces from Jefferson’s pile and three from Madison’s, shoved them into Alex’s arms, spun him, and pushed him towards a slightly open door. “He’ll be here all night if you guys do this. Go try on, Alex, and hurry up. Isn’t your date in a half hour?”

“Shit,” Alex said, going, not questioning how Angelica knew about the date or what time it was. He pulled on the suit pants, the light grey button-up shirt, the blazer, and the shoes that were a little bit too big. He left the bedroom as he was putting on a black belt, put his arms out, and gave the collected people a spin.

“I don’t even want to know who’s clothes I’m wearing right now.”

“Here,” Angelica said, and looped a bow tie around his neck. It was a wild pattern; oranges and rusty reds and creams and dark blues. She combed his hair back with her fingers. “You look great.”

“In my clothes,” Jefferson added behind her.

“That’s my shirt,” Madison said in rebuttal. “You don’t own anything that subdued.”

“True,” Jefferson replied, and Alex thanked all three of them and left with a cream colored pocket square from Madison, a spritz of cologne from Jefferson, and a kiss on the cheek from Angelica. He met John outside their apartment, and they fell in step almost immediately.

“You look good,” John commented, eyeing him up and down. “That bow tie, though.”

“It’s Jefferson’s,” Alex admitted. “I wanted to look nice, and, well. You know Jefferson.”

John laughed. He was wearing dark red pants, a white button-up, and a black tie embroidered with green leaves and red flowers and blue accents. “I said you look good, not the clothes. Although they don’t look bad, maybe you can _forget_ to return the bow tie…”

Alex grinned and took John’s hand. The rest of the night was nice; the food was good, the wine was good, the conversation was good. Alex took the check right out of John’s hand, and eventually the waiter flipped a coin for them to see who would pay. Alex won, or lost, depending on how one would look at it.

They walked home, taking the long way, the moon above them shining brighter than the city lights. Alex’s fingers were cold; even the one in John’s hand was getting a little numb. Right outside their apartment, John put his hand on Alex’s chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“I had a great time tonight,” he said. Alex nudged him with his shoulder.

“It’s cold out,” he said. “Let’s go upstairs, maybe Herc has some Kahlua left and he’ll share.”

John grabbed the lapels of Jefferson’s blazer and pulled Alex towards him, pressing his lips to Alex’s with the urgency and furor of an unstoppable avalanche. They twined together on the apartment’s front stoop, arms wrapped around necks and decency forgot in the night as they devoured each other. 

All Alex knew was John’s warm breath gasping against his lips and John’s nose brushing his every time he leaned forward for more and John’s hands rubbing his back and grasping at fabric as they urged each other on.

Alex woke up the next morning next to John in John’s bed, bow tie still wrapped loosely around his neck, bruised and disheveled and happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Talking less and smiling more.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com! The hashtag on all social media is #SOLTEA, and yes, I do track it!
> 
> -Gab


	34. Talk Less / Smile More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burr and Jefferson try and find out who Alex supported for manager.

“Alexander, get the door?” Lafayette yelled from somewhere, probably the kitchen. He’d promised homemade pizza, and the last time Alex had seen him, was elbow-deep in flour and yeast. Alex groaned, rolling over and pressing his cold nose to John’s bare back.

“Fuck!” John wriggled away, putting distance between the two of them while lashing out with his legs, kicking Alex as best as he could through all the blankets. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a fucking jackass?”

Alex cackled. They’d relocated Lafayette’s TV into John’s room the previous night, and after Libertea closed, had sunk deep into a _Mad Max_ movie marathon. John only owned the first two, but they’d borrowed the third and the newest installment from Burr, who apparently put _from the private library of Aaron Burr Jr._ stickers on everything he owned. Herc had been watching with them, but he’d gone out to get pepperoni and cornmeal for Lafayette’s pizza.

Lafayette made a noise from the kitchen. “Alex!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Alex yelled back, pressing his lips to John’s forehead in a quick apology before rolling over him and bolting out the door. Lafayette was, indeed, covered in flour and sticky dough, and he jerked his head towards the front door. 

“Someone knocked,” he said, kicking a cabinet door shut. “They’ve been pretty patient about it, too, while you and John were…” He waggled his eyebrows.

Alex groaned something incomprehensible (but not altogether disproving Lafayette’s statement) as he opened the door. Theo looked up at him, a little disdainfully if Alex was being honest with himself, one brow raised as she hefted Teddy in her arms. Both of them were wearing matching cream colored knit beanies, Hercules Mulligan originals.

“I come in peace,” she said. “I didn’t have a white flag, but the hats are going to have to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t know?” Theo held out Teddy and Alex took her, the sudden warmth of the baby reassuring on his shoulder. “Hot damn, A Dot Ham, we have to talk.”

“Okay,” Alex said as she pushed past him into the apartment, “you’re kind of freaking me out, Theo, you know that right?”

She hung her purse on one of their hooks, the one that usually held Herc’s coat, and pulled up a stool to the island Lafayette was still kneading pizza dough on. He looked up.

“Oh, hey Theo,” he said, flour intermittently clouding in the air. “Teddy. What brings you here on…” He glanced behind him at the microwave’s clock. “Seven thirty-four on a Thursday night?”

“Him.” Theo nodded at Alex, patting the stool beside her. He slowly sank down, still holding Teddy close to his chest, bouncing her up and down enough to keep her calm. Lafayette raised his eyebrows.

“What did he do this time?”

“Nothing,” Alex said, gently transferring Teddy to his other arm. “Wow, you have such _faith_ in me, Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, _such faith_.”

“Huh?” Theo said at the same time Lafayette gave Alex his best deadpan stare.

“The full name? Really?”

“I’m going to ignore _that_ ,” Theo said, waving one hand at Lafayette, “and just tell you guys what’s going on, since you’re clearly in the dark. I guess Libertwo got all the drama today.”

“Mrs. Ross came in,” John said, sliding onto a stool on Theo’s other side. “She yelled at me for not wearing long sleeves and then kissed Herc on the cheek, so _that_ happened.”

“Doesn’t even compare.” Theo nudged John’s side in greeting. “Apparently, one of you guys had a chat with Washington, and in that chat gave their full endorsement of either Jefferson or Aaron…”

“Don’t look at me,” John said. Lafayette shook his head as he kneaded the dough.

“Yeah, I talked with Washington,” Alex said, ignoring as Theo nodded sagely like she’d known all along, which she had. “But I didn’t _endorse_ anyone. I barely said anything! Don’t tell me Burr and Jefferson are getting all up in arms about something I never even said--”

Theo raised one impassive eyebrow as Alex stopped in his tracks, segueing right into a complete new thought.

“Burr sent you over here, didn’t he?”

“Bingo. You’re going to have quite the couple of days, Alex. Listen, I don’t care what you said, and even if you didn’t say _anything_ , Washington still talked to you about it. The way they both see it, you’re their way in.”

“God, with the fucking _drama_ \--” John threw his head back, indeed, very dramatically. Teddy shifted in Alex’s arms.

Alex lifted and dropped a shoulder. “They can do what they want. Theo, you staying for pizza? Laf’s no Papa John, but he can make a pretty good pie.”

“I think someone else is your Papa John,” Lafayette muttered into his dough, and both Theo and John snickered. Alex rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” Theo said, holding out her arms for Teddy. “Might as well, right? I’ll just tell Aaron I argued and begged and pleaded for hours but you were a padlocked vault.”

“I’m sure he’ll believe that,” John said.

“That’s our Alex,” Lafayette replied. “Always quiet. No opinions whatsoever.”

Alex rolled his eyes again as Herc came in with two bags from the store, and he grabbed a stack of plates from John while Lafayette and Theo filled Herc in on the latest gossip. John and Alex passed silverware and glasses back and forth as they set the table in preparation for pizza.

“You never told me you talked with Washington,” John said as he slid Herc’s favorite mug to Herc’s favorite spot. Alex shrugged.

“I didn’t think it was that big a deal.”

“Who’d you pick?”

Alex looked up and right into John’s line of vision; his eyes were bright and full of trouble. That was Alex’s problem, he was too easily suckered by John’s devious smirks and the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he was deviously smirking and how he sometimes bit his lip and looked off into the distance, plotting, and, of course, smirking. Deviously.

“You really want to know?” Alex asked. John looked at him like _duh_. “You know you can’t tell anyone, right? Laurens, you gotta promise. I can’t handle more people being pissed at me.”

“That was your own damn fault,” John said, pushing another cup towards Alex. “And of course I promise. I just want to know the deets, no one else has to.”

“I told Washington that I’d pick Jefferson,” Alex said, setting the silverware next to the plates a little louder than he needed to in order to mask what he was saying from the people in the kitchen. “Burr’s biting off more than he can chew, you know? And I don’t want--”

John held up a hand. 

“That’s all I need. Just wanted the knowledge.” He graced Alex with a wide smile, not at all devious, and together they finished setting the table. “I’m with you, you know? Through whatever crazy damn mess your big mouth gets you into. We’re a team, Ham. You and me.”

“You and me,” Alex echoed. He came around the table and leaned into John, wrapping his arms around his waist and leaning his head onto his chest. “I love you.”

John pressed his lips to the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

With the table set and the groceries delivered, the four of them (five, if Teddy counted) retreated to the living room as Lafayette finished the pizzas. Theo sat cross-legged on the couch between Alex and John, watching as Herc spun slowly around the room, doing some sort of slow motion waltz with Teddy securely in his arms, her little head resting on his broad chest.

“This is the cutest fucking thing I have ever seen,” Theo said, lifting her phone to get a better angle for the video she was taking. Herc had started to hum softly, and John was playing drums on the tops of his legs. “I don’t care that I’m supposed to be blackmailing you guys into telling me who Alex picked to be manager, I could stay here all night and watch Herc be all domestic.”

“Who’s domestic?” Lafayette said from the kitchen. “ _C’est moi_.”

“That better mean the pizza’s ready,” John said. Theo accepted Teddy back into her arms.

“How do you say _the pizza_ in French?” she asked.

“ _La pizza_ ,” Alex and John replied at the same time. She stood, and so did they.

“To _la pizza!_ ” She headed towards the table, finger pointed onwards like she was conquering a nation, Teddy balanced on her hip. They laughed and followed her, and together their little group ripped slices off of the pizza Lafayette had made, pulled faces at Teddy, and talked about anything and everything but the manager conflict. 

It didn’t come up again until that night, right after Alex finished brushing his teeth and fighting John for his fair share of the covers. It was their third night in a row sharing a bed, and it was a streak Alex never wanted to end.

“Thanks for telling me,” John muttered quietly into the dark room. He shifted closer to Alex and stopped when his bare arm was flush against Alex’s chest. “You know, about the manager thing. I know it’s not a big deal, but it feels good. Talking about stuff.”

“I don’t want to keep secrets,” Alex said. He knew what John meant; being honest and open felt comforting, warm, _simple_ , like Teddy had felt nestled in his arms. It felt how it was supposed to feel. “I never want to keep anything from you ever again.”

“Well, I mean.” John flipped over again. “Birthday parties and Christmas presents and that shit. We can keep those a secret.”

“Trips,” Alex countered. “Surprises.”

“The shit I draw on your coffee cups,” John said.

“Proposals,” Alex said, doubling over in bed as John elbowed him swiftly between the ribs.

“God, Hamilton, you just got me back and you already want to put a ring on it?”

“You’re cute,” Alex managed to wheeze. John turned again, and even though Alex couldn’t see anything in the dark, John somehow managed to find his lips with his own. The kiss was deep and sincere, driven by John’s roving hands and tongue and hips. They broke away; Alex was still trying to catch his breath.

“What do you want for breakfast tomorrow?” John asked, and Alex felt him moving, burying himself deeper under their pile of blankets. “Since you like to sleep late and everything. We were almost late for work this morning, and--”

This time it was Alex who lashed out, kicking towards John’s general direction and grinning to himself in the dark when his foot met leg and John choked to a halt. 

“I was just trying to be _nice_ , Hamilton, keep your fucking feet on your side of the bed!”

“Make me a toaster strudel?” Alex asked, flipping over and pulling some blanket over his shoulder. “Maybe two, if Herc didn’t eat ‘em all this morning. Please and thank you.”

“Only because I love you,” John grumbled, and that was the last thing Alex heard before drifting off. The next morning he woke up to two cooling strawberry toaster strudels on a plate, the indent John left in the mattress still warm.

•••

“Y’all bitches know what’s up!”

The front door’s bells jangled as Alex’s head shot up from behind the bar, where he was crouched clutching a damp rag. They were closed as of five minutes prior when Lafayette had locked the door, and the only people still in the shop were Libertea’s four employees. 

And now Thomas Jefferson, running a hand over his hair as he locked the door behind him.

“What do you want?” Alex asked as he stood. John heaved himself up to sit on the counter, and leveled Jefferson with a questioning look of his own. “We’re closed. I thought you’d know the hours?”

“I want you,” he said, pointing a rather threatening Uncle Sam-esque finger in Alex’s direction. He rolled his eyes. _Could’ve fucking guessed._

“I told Theo last night that I had nothing to do with Washington’s choice or whatever,” Alex replied. “If you guys would stop haranguing me about it, maybe he’d pick one of you already.”

“Theo talked to you?” Jefferson raised an eyebrow and Alex mentally kicked himself for saying anything about it. “Well, that’ll be our conversation starter tonight, before we… Ah, segue into other things.”

“What’s tonight?” John asked. Jefferson winked.

“I’m taking your boo out for dinner. Don’t worry, Laurens, it’s not like that, and I’ll return him in time for late night cuddles.”

John looked over at Alex. Alex looked over at John.

“I never agreed to this.”

“Didn’t have to, Alexander, it’s written all over your face.” Thomas grinned, but let the grin slowly fade into something softer, something more defenseless. “C’mon, my treat. I just want to talk a little, get to know each other, that kind of stuff. I just did this with Mads yesterday.”

“That’s what we call a date, Tom,” John said. “With your _significant other_.”

Jefferson rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me beg, Alex, I swear to God.”

Alex found himself agreeing, despite not really wanting to spend his Friday evening being wined and dined by Thomas Jefferson. _It could turn out to be fun,_ he kept telling himself, _and when was the last time he used your first name in actual conversation?_

So after he finished locking up, he watched as Herc and Lafayette and John made their way up the darkened New York street to their apartment, and got into Jefferson’s car.

The Espada looked like Reynolds had never hit it; the paint shone like a beacon under the streetlights, and the interior was lit with soft white lights running along the framework. Alex had never been in the front seat, a spot usually reserved for Madison, and silently acknowledged the leg room, the soft leather seats, the temperature control. Jefferson caught him looking around, and grinned again.

“Nice, huh?”

“We’ve never spent more than three minutes alone,” Alex replied. “Last time we talked by ourselves was in that club, and I ended up on my ass covered in booze. What makes you think this is a good idea?”

Jefferson waved his hand dismissively as he backed out of the spot in front of Libertea.

“That was forever ago,” he said, wrapping one obscenely long arm around the headrest of Alex’s seat as he looked over his shoulder before pulling onto the road. “We’ve chilled like twenty times since then. And,” he looked over at Alex, artificial light glinting off of his canines, “this time I want something from you.”

That, it it of itself, was obvious. Jefferson whipped the Espada through the darkening New York streets, talking the whole way, telling Alex story after story about growing up in Virginia, about his time abroad in France, about living with Madison and Angelica and all the shit the three of them got into. Alex wasn’t sure which were real and which were fabricated (the one about him and the French fire department had to be fake), but there was no doubt that Jefferson could tell a story.

This continued as he handed over his keys to the valet at the restaurant (some place with chandeliers and cloth napkins that Alex had never heard of), and ushered Alex inside. It wasn’t until they were at their table, enclosed in a tiny alcove in the wall, that Alex found his voice again.

“You know I’m not telling you anything,” he said, interrupting Jefferson, who was talking about Madison. He spent an awful lot of time talking about Madison. “I know what this is.”

“What do you mean?” Jefferson leaned back, rolling the silver napkin ring between his fingers. “This isn’t anything. Just a dinner between friends, Ham, or haven’t you ever had one of those?”

“That’s more like it,” Alex said as the waiter slid a few glasses onto the table, two waters, red wine for Jefferson, white for Alex. He definitely hadn’t ordered anything, but the wine was damn good. “Drop the act, Thomas, I don’t want to talk about the whole manager thing.”

“You sure wanted to talk to Washington about the _whole manager thing_ the other day.”

“I was just _talking_. It wasn’t supposed to leave the room.”

“Well, what about talking to Theodosia? She’s Burr’s wife, Alex, you can’t just gossip about this shit to the opposition’s wife, that’s not fair--”

“Okay,” Alex said, holding up a hand, “Burr’s not _the opposition_. And Theo’s my friend, I can talk to my friends about whatever I want. Look, I’m sorry I talked to Washington, but… No, I’m actually not sorry, Jefferson, because I can do--”

Jefferson’s phone pinged once, twice, three times, and then another time for good measure. He held up one finger before glancing down at it, Alex watching as his eyebrows slowly lifted over wide eyes.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Despite himself, Alex leaned over. “What is it?”

Jefferson lifted his phone so Alex could catch a glimpse of a series of texts.

**♥♥♥jemmy mads♥♥♥**

JM: I just heard from Angelica that Washington’s giving the position to you

JM: NO ONE KNOWS THAT WE KNOW THIS

JM: So suppress your natural urges and keep it quiet, please.

JM: It was a good choice, though. I love you♥

Alex breathed out. “I guess that’s that.”

Jefferson lifted his wineglass and, after a moment’s hesitation, Alex did the same. Bumping the rims together, Alex tried to ignore the grating sound of glass on glass as his mind raced, thinking about Washington’s decision, the part he’d played in it, and whether or not Aaron Burr had heard the news.

•••

Washington clapped his hands once and the room fell silent, which was surprising, because the room was packed.

They’d congregated in Libertwo after it had closed; Martha had Teddy for the night so Theo and Burr had claimed one of the small tables for themselves, Jefferson and Madison were sitting with Angelica, Maria, and Eliza by the window, Herc and Peggy were sprawled on the floor, Lafayette was sitting on the countertop closest to Washington, and Alex and John commanded the big table by themselves. 

Burr hadn’t stopped looking at Alex since he walked through the door.

It was scary, the dark stare Burr was sending his way. It was emotionless, callous and cold, and Alex did his best not to look back at him. If he wanted to act this way, like a child who thought he was owed something, it was on him. 

“Burr’s freaking me out,” John muttered. “He’s looking over here like you killed his dreams.”

“I hope being a manager here wasn’t his dream,” Alex answered, keeping his voice low. “He’s just as ambitious as me, and better connected to boot. He’ll get over it eventually.”

John hummed assent as Washington clapped again, returning all eyes to him.

“I assume you all know why we’re here,” he started, scanning his assembled employees. “As of next week, Mr. Jefferson is going to take over all of the managerial duties that Adams left behind when he moved up to New England--”

“When you fired his ass,” John coughed. A few people snickered; Alex saw Madison in particular hide his mouth behind his hand. Washington shot a mock glare towards John.

“When he left as a _mutual decision_ ,” Washington reiterated. “I know this whole manager business has caused a few rifts, and that wasn’t my intention at all. I hope we can put it behind us and move on, You are all exceptional employees, and I’m lucky to have every single one of you.”

He looked over at the Schuylers, and grinned. “Even those of you who don’t work for me.”

Peggy snickered again. 

“In your dreams, George!”

It was Washington’s turn to hide a grin behind his hand, to conceal a laugh as a series of coughs. The whole room felt good, loose and friendly, except for the dark cloud hanging over Burr’s head. Alex chanced another look. He was still staring like he was wishing he'd suddenly develop laser vision.

“I’ve spoken with both Mr. Burr and Mr. Jefferson,” Washington went on, “and there are no ill feelings between any of us. The main thing is that the shop runs smoothly, our customers are satisfied, and all of you are happy.”

Alex glanced over at Burr again. He didn’t look happy.

Washington dismissed them and the Burrs were the first to leave, Theo holding the door open for her husband as they left without saying goodbye to anyone but Maria and Eliza, who were out the door soon after. Washington left, too, after holding a small conference in the back corner with Lafayette and Jefferson. John kicked up his legs onto the table and got comfortable.

“Burr’s pissed,” were the first words out of his mouth.

“When isn’t Burr pissed?” Angelica said, sliding into a chair opposite Alex, Madison taking the chair across from John. Herc and Peggy turned on the floor to face the group. “He doesn’t seem like the guy to lose graciously.”

“He’s not mad that he lost the position,” Madison countered. “He’s mad that he lost it unfairly.”

“What’s unfair about me being incredible?” Jefferson called from across the shop. He’d jumped up on the counter next to Lafayette, and the two were in the middle of watching some Youtube video Lafayette had made Alex watch the night prior. “Burr doesn’t know what he’s bitching about.”

“He thinks Alex influencing Washington lost him the position,” Madison continued, “and no matter what happens after this, whether or not it’s true, he’s still going to think it.” 

“Puts the blame on someone else,” Angelica added.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Alex argued. Madison shrugged.

“That’s subjective.”

“He didn’t,” John shot back. “He’s allowed to talk to Washington if Washington wanted to hear it. Burr’s just mad because he wanted the manager thing over Jefferson and didn’t get it fair and square. It was Washington’s decision, not Alex’s.”

“Burr’s not going to get mad at Washington,” Herc said from the floor. Peggy nodded.

“He’s gonna get mad at you,” Jefferson said, pointing at Alex and winking. Alex rolled his eyes.

“Act like a manager for once in your damn life, Thomas.”

“Oh my God,” Angelica said. “Tom’s your manager, James. You’re going to die.”

“He’s going to burn down the building,” Madison added, and Alex watched as they both turned in sync and grinned at Jefferson. He groaned.

“You’re both fired.”

“I don’t work for you,” Angelica said, and blew him a kiss.

“Neither do I,” Madison said. “I work for two people only, Washington and my jackass civics professor who’s out to murder me and sell my parts on the black market.”

“Burgoyne?” Alex asked, and Madison nodded. “Good luck, man. I had him last year, and he’s the devil.”

“Is that our cue?” Jefferson asked, jumping down from the counter. “Goodnight, y’all, the great Jemmy Mads has studying to do if he’s ever going to provide for this fucking family _for once_ \--”

“I should get home, too,” Alex said, nudging John’s feet off of the table. “I just got a new set of tiles for my Scrabble game and someone promised he’d play with me tonight.”

Peggy laughed as Herc helped her off of the floor. “Playing Scrabble with Alex Hamilton. I’d rather set myself on fire.”

Alex dove around the table to push Peggy’s shoulder, and she retaliated with a swift kick to his shin. Jefferson tried to break them up and somehow ended up on the floor, John started throwing ice cubes from his spot at the table, and the whole incident ended up on Angelica’s Snapchat story.

After John mopped up his melted ice cubes and Madison locked the doors behind them, they split up. Peggy and Angelica called a cab (they had a dinner date with Eliza and Maria later that night), Jefferson and Madison got into the Espada (Madison, of course, was studying, and Jefferson claimed to be helping him, even though Alex heard something about a bottle of cabernet), and Alex headed home with Lafayette, John, and Herc.

They walked back to the apartment that night, quieter than usual now that they’d parted with the main group. Alex did his normal routine, ate dinner with his roommates, said hello to Adrienne over Skype, played and won a very spirited round of Scrabble with John and Herc. He brushed his teeth, he changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, he got into bed with John, he kissed John goodnight.

He couldn’t forget Burr’s eyes on him, couldn’t shake the cold, flat stare Burr had leveled him with, couldn’t get rid of the thought that Burr knew he’d spoken to Washington, that Burr knew he’d vouched for Jefferson over him.

He did his best to forget it, however, and tossed and turned himself into sleep.

•••

**A. Burr**

AB: Alexander.

AB: We need to talk.

AB: I know you and Washington talked about this. I know you put your two cents in. I know you influenced his decision.

AB: I can’t believe you would pick Jefferson over me. You don’t like him, you don’t TRUST him, Alexander, you said so when you first met. 

AB: You did this to spite me. For some reason you have a problem with me.

AB: If you have a problem, let’s settle it.

  


**A. Ham**

AH: burr it’s 3 in th e morning

AH: i didn’t do any of this to spite you?? we’re friends

AH: im trying to protect you. don’t you get that?? wtf is wrong with you

AH: i don’t want to fight you but i’m not apologizing for doing what’s right

  


**A. Burr**

AB: Careful, Hamilton.

AB: Tread lightly when dealing with other people’s fucking futures.

AB: Didn’t you learn from last time?

  


**A. Ham**

AH: ??????

AH: the fuck, burr

AH: i can’t take back what i said to mr washington and i wouldn’t even if i could. you’re a dumbass if you think you can do all this at once and not get burnt out. you cant think about yourself and what you want anymore, you have a wife, you have a kid?? this manager thing isn’t what you want. get your head out of your ass, man

  


**A. Burr**

AB: I want you to say this to my face.

AB: Unless you’d rather just continue to talk behind my back.

  


**A. Ham**

AH: any time at all

AH: name the place, burr. if you want to hear me talk i have a lot more to say.

  


**A. Burr**

AB: Outside your apartment.

AB: Five minutes.

  


**A. Ham**

AH: you’re on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Best of boyfriends and best of... Johns.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com! The tracked tag on all social media is #SOLTEA!
> 
> -Gab


	35. All The Courage You Require

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weehawken, dawn.

Alex stared at the dark ceiling until his eyes started to go dry, until the black night swirled into a colorful, speckled mess. He blinked, the ceiling went back to darkness, and he shifted in bed.

John was next to him, snoring lightly, his back turned away from Alex. 

The digital clock on John’s dresser ticked, almost ear-splittingly loud in the quietness of the bedroom. One more minute had passed. Alex had four remaining until he was supposed to meet Aaron Burr outside.

He had no idea what Burr wanted. An apology? Alex shifted under the heavy comforter.

There was nothing to apologize for. He hadn’t done anything wrong. For once, he hadn’t lost his cool, he hadn’t run his mouth, he hadn’t said anything he regretted later. Burr should be the one to apologize; he'd been angry and hotheaded, his fury steaming through every line of text seared onto Alex's phone screen. 

That had been unlike him. Alex knew Burr; he knew that he hated running headfirst into conflict, he knew that he never jumped in without testing the waters, he knew that he was calm, collected, and had a life motto of _good things come to those who wait_. They were opposites, and this whole texting mess was a very Alexander Hamilton thing to do. 

He checked his phone again. No texts, nothing.

Three minutes.

He buried himself deeper under the blankets. For once in his life he didn’t want to go out there and get into it with Burr; he was perfectly happy in John’s bed wearing John’s sweatpants laying next to John. He could even feel John’s heartbeat, thudding softly through the tangled sheets until it mingled with Alex’s own.

The darkness of the room, mixed with John’s reassuring presence and the warmth of the bed and the hazy smell of the bread Lafayette had baked that night still lingering made Alex never want to step foot outside of the room ever again. His racing thoughts didn’t agree.

Burr was, somehow simultaneously, the first and the last thing on his mind.

Two minutes.

Alex, against every signal his comfortable, warm body was sending him, shoved the blankets aside and got out of bed. The floorboards froze his bare feet immediately, and he found himself contemplating texting Burr, telling him to suck it, and burrowing back under the covers until winter was over.

He did none of those things, and instead grabbed a sweatshirt and his sneakers. A winter coat went on over the sweatshirt, and he tied his hair back as John shifted in bed.

“Alex?” he asked. His voice was morning-weary and gravelly, and Alex almost swooned. John didn’t have a strong accent very often, but his southern roots shone particularly bright when he was half asleep. “What’re you…”

He flipped over to face the door, taking most of Alex’s share of the blankets onto his side.

“...doin’?”

“Don’t worry,” Alex said, hiking the coat higher onto his shoulders. “I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”

“Come back to bed,” John mumbled, making a vague gesturing motion with one hand that Alex could barely see in the darkness of the room. “We don’t need to be up for work for like… Hours.”

“I have something I need to do,” Alex said, bending down onto his knees, getting low enough to comfortably brush John’s warm, freckle-spattered cheek with his lips. He was burning up; not in a damp, feverish way, but in a comfortable, insulated, never-getting-out-of-bed-for-anything way. “I’ll tell you all about it when I come home.”

Somehow John reached up and snagged Alex’s face with both of his hands, bringing him down farther into a real kiss, a deep, passionate, half asleep kiss.

“Well, I’m going back to sleep,” he said, tunneling back underneath the comforter and turning his back to Alex, who opened the bedroom door just wide enough to slip through. He glanced back one last time, to John, haloed by the gentle hallway light, dust motes suspended in midair like tiny stars.

“Hey,” he breathed. John turned his head ever so slightly. “Can I start calling you _Dear John_ , you know, like the Taylor Swift song?”

A pillow thumped the door frame right next to Alex’s head before John turned over again. Alex grinned, closed the door as gently as he could, and headed out of the apartment right as his five minutes ticked to a close.

•••

Aaron Burr didn’t have a car, Alex realized as he was standing and shivering on the curb.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. Burr, decked out in boxing gloves and shorts, waiting in a makeshift ring right outside of the apartment? Burr, with a pair of pistols ready to duel to the death? Burr, inside a circus cannon, ready to make Alex pay for everything that he’d--

A sleek car crept around the corner at that very moment, making Alex stop mid-thought to appreciate just how _slow_ the driver was going. Tinted windows blocked out any unwanted peeking, but if Alex had to guess, the person behind the wheel was either old enough to use Libertea’s senior discount, or it was Aaron Burr.

The car stopped right in front of Alex, and the passenger side window lowered.

“Well,” Alex said, stepping off the curb and into the street, “if it isn’t Aaron Burr, sir.”

Burr looked just as ominous as his texts had read, maybe even more so now that he’d had time to sit and stew. His eyebrows hovered in a grimace-accompanying line across his forehead, his hands hovered in a strangling stance on the steering wheel, and his eyes, hard and cold as steel, brushed over Alex once, quick and damning.

“Get in the car.”

Alex acquiesced. It wasn’t like he had any other options. He slid onto the passenger seat, clicking the belt over his chest and making himself comfortable. The interior was impressive, all polished chrome and dark leather, and he took a quick look around before speaking again.

“Where’d you even come up with this car, Aaron? It’s nicer than Jefferson’s, I think. I’m not pandering, I promise, and don’t tell him I said that.”

“Don’t _Aaron_ me,” Burr said, making the slowest u-turn Alex had ever been witness to and pulling back onto the main road. Alex had seen him bristle at Jefferson’s name, even if he brushed it off. “And if you have to know, it’s Theodosia’s. Inherited. She keeps it in a garage uptown.”

“It’s nice,” Alex said, and both of them fell silent. The only thing Alex could hear was the rushing traffic on either side of Burr’s patient headway, fat raindrops splattering intermittently on the windshield, and whatever CD Theo had been playing in her car last, a quiet current of Lady Gaga running underneath every other noise.

“I didn’t know it was supposed to rain,” Alex said about five minutes later. Burr looked straight ahead and said nothing.

“They do a lot of construction at night,” Alex said a little bit after that. Burr merged lanes and said nothing.

“I ate there once,” Alex said hardly a second later, pointing towards a burger joint tucked between a Macy’s and an adult store. “They forgot the pickles and it was the worst fuckin’ day of my life.”

Burr flicked on his turn signal and got in the left lane. They were leaving the city, Alex still had no idea where they were going, and Burr said nothing.

“Are you going to talk to me or what?” Alex said finally. Burr slammed his hands down on the steering wheel.

“ _Jesus_ , Alexander, would you shut your god damned mouth for once?”

“Finally,” Alex replied. “I thought I was a ghost or something.”

“I wish,” Burr muttered, and they drove in silence for another stretch of time. It wasn’t until the rain had stopped and they’d passed through the Lincoln Tunnel and Alex saw the sign for New Jersey that he spoke up again.

“Jersey, Burr? For real? Why the fuck are you taking me to _Jersey?_ ”

“Everything is legal in New Jersey,” Burr said, and if it was any other time other than three in the morning, and if he were in any other place than in a mysterious car driving God-knows-where, and if the person driving hadn’t been supremely pissed at him, Alex would have laughed. 

“What,” he said instead. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Don’t count that out,” Burr said, and again, silence fell. They pulled into a dark, quiet town and parked next to a line of mailboxes. Burr got out and started walking, so Alex did the only thing he could do, and followed.

“Weehawken,” he echoed, reading a sign as Burr walked and Alex matched his fast clip. It was right on the bay, and he could hear the water, smell the salt, and see splashes of city lights from where they were. “Burr, why the fuck are we in some little podunk place named _Weehawken?_ I’ve never even heard of it before.”

“Just because you never heard of it doesn’t mean it’s terrible,” Burr said over his shoulder, his voice awful and flat, and made a left turn when the sidewalk ended. They had reached some sort of park; streetlamps flickering intermittently as they made their way down an old path. They passed bench after bench, a swingset, a water fountain, until Burr finally stopped.

Alex stopped as well, speechless for the first time that night. The view made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end; his city, all stretched out like an oil painting, smears of red and gold and blue lights illuminating the tiny park in the tiny town of Weehawken. The bay sloshed in the distance somewhere as Burr stood by a rock between two trees, hands clasped behind his back as he took in the sights.

“Sorry I said this place sucked,” Alex said, meandering over to stand beside Burr. “It’s nice.”

“Honestly, Hamilton?” Burr turned to face him, voice low, features twisted in a snarl that had Alex beating a retreat one step, two steps away from him. “You say sorry for _that_ , and not what you did to me?”

Alex dug his heels into the dirt and steeled his shoulders.

“I’m not apologizing for that.” He returned the verbal volley. “I didn’t _do_ anything to you. Not anything to warrant you driving me to the middle of nowhere to yell at me, anyway, _Burr_. Washington did what he thought was best for the shop, and he would’ve done it no matter what I--”

And that’s when Burr hauled his arm back and, before Alex had time to register anything but the smattering of city lights in the background and the fresh rain smell in the park and the blur of Burr’s fist headed right towards him, he was on his back, blinking up at the starry sky in shock. 

The ground was almost soft at first, damp and pliant, catching him by the ass and by the shoulders and by the head and cushioning his fall. The pain came right on the heels of the shock, his tailbone and his skull and his left eye in particular screaming obscenities at him. He staggered to his feet, holding one hand over his eye through wave after wave of pain and rubbing the back of his head with the other.

“What the _fuck!"_ he yelled in Burr’s general direction, and immediately regretted it. Both hands moved to clutching his head, and he saw stars.

When the yellow and orange and blue bursts cleared, he caught a glimpse of Burr and staggered towards him, intent on finishing what he’d started. The other man wasn’t that much taller than him, he could probably get a good swing or two in before--

Alex skidded to a stop. Burr was sitting on the rock between the trees, framed by New York City behind him, and his head was cradled in both hands like Alex had already gotten in his punch. Tears caught the light as they dripped down both cheeks, watering the ground under Burr’s feet. 

Eye forgotten for the moment, clenched fists and boiling anger forgotten for the moment, Alex dropped to his knees next to him, ignoring the fact that he immediately turned away. 

“Go back to the car,” Burr said, and Alex could tell he was fighting to keep his voice steady like Alex hadn’t already seen the tears. Punctuating that, he let out a heavy, wavering breath.

“What’s going on?” Alex asked, and sat next to the rock. He wasn’t going anywhere; he was more than familiar with the shaking shoulders and the furtive sniffles and the clenched shut eyes that currently defined Aaron Burr, and he wasn’t about to leave him to work out his problems alone. Black eye or no black eye, he was done screwing over people that needed his help.

“Come on, Aaron,” he said, reaching out like he was going to put a hand on Burr’s leg, but Burr shot off the rock and walked away, heading not towards the car, but closer to the bay and the city lights. Alex stood, still clutching his head, and followed. “Burr, I’m serious, I don’t care that you punched my lights out, I just want you to _talk_ to me.”

“Because that’ll fix everything.” Burr snapped out each syllable like it was a weapon. 

“It might,” Alex pressed on. “You know me, right, talking’s the only thing I know how to do. Just try it, okay, tell me what’s going on, and if that doesn’t work you can hit me again.”

“You’re not mad.” It wasn’t a question.

Alex shrugged a shoulder even though he knew Burr couldn’t see. “I didn’t like it, if that’s what you’re asking. But, I mean, you’re the calmest person I know. If you’re that pissed at me enough for physical violence, maybe I deserve it. Maybe you need to let it out.”

Burr let out a huge breath, a breath that sounded like it had been ruminating in his chest since the beginning of time, a breath that held sadness and fear and regret and every word he’d ever kept inside of him instead of setting it free.

“I got offered a job at the firm. A real job, as a real lawyer.”

“Seriously?” Alex asked. “That’s awesome, Burr, why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

Burr turned to face him, light reflecting the tear tracks on his face, eyes bloodshot and weary. 

“Everything’s changing,” he said. “I’m married, I have a kid, Alex, a fucking _human being_ that I’m responsible for the well-being of, and…” He took a deep, shuddering breath in. “The manager position was my excuse to stay at Libertwo. I’m comfortable there. I know what I’m doing. This new job--”

“You’ll kick ass at,” Alex argued. “Remember Maria? Her trial? That was _incredible_ , and you were just an intern back then, right?”

“My father,” Burr said, still turned away from Alex, shoulders tense, spine ramrod straight. “My mother. They were never home, they worked all the time, and they died... “ He took a breath. Alex could picture his face, twisted with emotion, teeth almost bared. “They died on a work trip they weren’t meant to go on. If they’d just… _Stopped_... Maybe they would have been around.”

Burr turned and met his eyes then, and Alex saw a fleeting, feral, terrified look pass across the other man’s face, and he understood. The weight of familial expectations, the warmth of Teddy Burr nestled in his unprepared arms, a dark hallway lined with doors, some of them open, some of them closed, some of them padlocked with iron chains. Flicking on a lightswitch in the hallway. Hefting a bolt cutter with both hands. 

“Do you want to know what I told Washington?” Alex asked.

“Go to hell,” Burr spat.

“I told him your whole life’s changing,” Alex pressed on, “and I was right. Not just with Teddy and Theo, but your career, Burr, what you’ve worked so hard for, come _on_ , I’m working towards it, too, and I know what it’s like. The long nights in the law library, the tests, the _stress_ , god damn, remember me and Maria? Burr, you’re done with that, and it’s paying off, if you’d just let it already!”

“You sure as hell like making other people's’ decisions for them,” Burr said, a little less venomous than he had been. 

“Come on, man,” Alex said, pushing Burr’s shoulder a little bit. “You’re not your parents. Put a picture of Theo and Teddy on your desk and do it for them. The nerves and the long nights and the tough cases. The breaks that you’ll take, right? The vacations, the memories you’ll create. Do it for them.”

“And,” he added as an afterthought, “do it for you, too.”

Burr was quiet, until he ran a hand across his head and turned fully towards Alex.

“I’m sorry I punched you.”

Alex lifted and dropped a shoulder. “I’m sorry I meddled.”

Burr laughed, a genuine bright _bang_ of emotion very out of place on the dark Weehawken path. “Now was that so hard?”

Alex let out a laugh too. “Fuck you!”

They moved together to a bench, the only one facing towards the city, and sat down. If Alex strained, he was pretty sure he could hear the hustle and bustle that defined New York, even as it neared four in the morning. Burr was warm next to him, and he shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets as his left eye throbbed. 

“You got a mean left hook,” he said. “Why punch with that hand, anyway?”

“I’m comfortable with both stances,” Burr said. “Took some classes last year; it didn’t really stick but it’s fun for exercise.”

“Oh, God, don’t tell John that or he’ll be out here fighting everything that breathes.”

“Like he doesn’t do that already?”

“No comment.”

Burr’s mouth turned up in what was basically a grin for him, and Alex watched out of the corner of his eye as he chewed on his bottom lip and faced New York. Burr was strange, but he was the kind of strange that Alex couldn’t help but appreciate, an off-the-grid, determined kind of strange.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said, and then elbowed Burr in the ribs. “I’ll be following in your footsteps in a few years, just you wait.”

“My same firm?” Burr rolled his eyes and huffed out a laugh. “In your dreams, Hamilton, there’s no way I’m working with you again.”

“So you’re taking the job?”

Burr heaved a breath. “I mean, yeah. It’s what I’ve been working for. I can’t believe _you’re_ the first person that knows about this. I haven’t told Washington, hell, I haven’t told my wife.”

“You know what would be hilarious?” Alex asked. “If you told Jefferson you were quitting because you couldn’t stand the fact you’d be working under him. And also because he’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, right, Alexander.” Burr actually did grin that time, and nudged Alex’s shoulder a little with his own. “He _was_ my best man.”

“I’m still pissed you didn’t pick me.”

“I could’ve had you officiate, except we’d have been there for eight hours.”

“I don’t talk that much,” Alex argued. “I’m just passionate, okay? When you have a lot of things to say and not a lot of time to say them--”

“Good _God_ , Alexander,” Burr said, rolling his eyes, exasperated. “Talk less.”

“Smile more,” Alex finished, grinning over at Burr before sobering up a little. “Honestly, man, did you ever think it would end up like this? Wife and a kid and the whole nine? Sixteen year old Burr must be going nuts.”

“So is the Burr right now,” Burr quipped, and nudged Alex back. “And no, I never pictured Theo and I sure as hell never pictured Teddy. But, hey, that’s life, right? You have John for the second time, that’s a miracle in it of itself.”

“He forgave me,” Alex said, “in the delivery room the day Teddy was born. It didn’t get rid of what I did, but somehow it set us back on the right track, and now... “ He paused, took in the city lights. “He’s mine, Aaron, and every day I thank whoever’s up there pulling the strings that he is.”

“Thank yourself,” Burr said. “You put in the work. You care, oh _God_ , Alex, you care so damn much. It makes me want to punch you in the face.”

Alex poked his swollen, tender eye with two fingers as Burr gave him a wry smile. 

“Emotions, right?”

“Tricky sons of bitches,” Alex agreed.

Burr let out a breath and turned away slightly like he needed to get something out right away or it would be stuck inside him forever. “This place is a little less than a half hour from where I grew up.”

“You were born in Jersey?” Alex asked. “Typical.”

“After my parents died I was raised by my grandparents,” Burr went on like Alex hadn’t said a word. “They’d take us, me and my sister, into the city all the time, and on the way home, we’d stop here and get ice cream. We’d play in the fountains while my grandparents sat on benches and watched. That was all this place ever was to me, a middle ground, a stop before home.”

He paused, played with a fray on his coat.

“I haven’t been back here since they died.”

“Hey,” Alex said, brushing Burr’s side with his elbow again. “Just think, though, how proud they are of you. Bigshot lawyer in the city. And you haven’t forgotten this place, and tonight you punched a guy here, so who’s successful now?”

Burr pushed Alex so hard he almost fell off the bench.

“You’re an asshole.”

“But I’m _your_ asshole?”

“Again, In your dreams.”

“So does this mean you and Jefferson can be friends again?” Alex asked, changing the subject. “I think he’s slowly dying because you’re mad at him. He puts up a front, but damn, Burr, you can ice a bitch _out_.”

“I’ll do my best to mend the bridge,” Burr said, and Alex nodded. “I was mad at myself, I think, for trying to run away from the whole _promising future_ part of my personality, and he fit the mold of cocky antagonist a little too well.”

“He tends to do that.” Alex picked fuzz off of his coat, flicking it towards New York, watching it float away on the slight breeze. 

I’ll take him out,” Burr continued. “Maybe tomorrow night, I think he likes that place on West Fifty-First. I’m just ready to put all this behind us. You can come with, if you want. Make it a full-on apology dinner.”

Alex laughed. “I think I’ll pass. I’m glad we’re cool, though. John’s going to lose it when I tell him you punched me.”

“Am I going to have to fend off your boyfriend?”

“Nah,” Alex said. “He’ll probably get Eliza to make you a bouquet. He’s a big fan of anything that puts me in my place, and I think he thinks I look hot with a black eye. You should have seen him after Jefferson punched me out at the club that one night.”

“Jefferson did _what?_ ”

Alex sat up straight, planting his hands on his knees. “Shut the hell up, there’s no way no one told you that story. God, I fail as a friend. Okay, so we’re all at the club Maria used to work at, right? This was right after the whole thing with King and the bank, so we don’t know Jefferson that well, and he’s buying us all drinks…”

•••

Alex leaned back against the bench, curling his shoulders against the early morning chill. His breath clouded in front of his nose and the city lights dimmed and sparkled as he let his eyes go out of focus. Despite the cold, he was comfortable, and on that park bench was the most peace he’d felt in days.

Burr had left, wandering over to the playground and leaving Alex alone with his thoughts, or lack of. His mind was calm, like a placid lake that had withstood too many storms and wanted to relish the serenity only dawn could bring. It was strange, being calm, not dealing with irate customers at work or personal drama or inner turmoil.

There were no storms on the horizon, no hurricanes, and, despite the small part of him that craved warfare, Alex was fine with that. Nothing in the distance but a lighthouse, sending light when he needed it, giving direction when he lost his way.

“Hamilton. You coming?”

Alex looked over at Burr quickly before looking back towards the city, the wide array of flashing and blinking and searing lights that nothing could possibly ever dim. Burr was like that, one of the constant beams of light in Alex’s life, exposing his flaws and making him better and pointing him out of the darkness.

Theodosia. The Washingtons. Madison, Jefferson, the Schuylers, Maria.

Herc and Lafayette.

_John._

The sky slowly changed, from pitch black to dark grey to ombre shades of morning, and Alex finally stood, taking in the sights of the city one last time.

“Ready?” he heard Burr say, standing by the driver’s side of the car.

“Yeah,” he replied, and turned towards him, hands in his pockets, left eye pounding in the same rhythm as his heartbeat, heat coursing through his veins, real and tangible and more alive than he’d ever been. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Ten things, one thing.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com! The tracked tag on all social media is #SOLTEA!
> 
> -Gab


	36. As I Watch It Slowly Rise Over My New York City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten things, one thing.

**TEN THINGS**

  


_Aaron Burr Jr._

Burr stifled a yawn as he watched Alex cross the sidewalk towards the double doors leading into his apartment complex. It was late or it was early depending on how one looked at it; the sun was just starting to rise and he had been up since…

Well. He’d never gone to sleep in the first place.

It was funny. Now that the anger he’d made so much room for in his chest was gone, there was nothing left to fill the empty space. He’d spent so much time focusing on _not_ thinking about his firm’s job offer, pressing down those emotions in favor of animosity towards Alex, towards Jefferson, towards Washington, that now he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

Burr reversed the car, pulling slowly into the still-dark street. His apartment wasn’t far from Alex’s, and it didn’t take him long to park Theo’s car, lock it behind him, and press the elevator button for their floor. His phone had buzzed a couple of times, but he ignored it as the elevator ascended.

He couldn’t believe how much his life had changed since he met Theo, since he ran twenty-three flights of stairs to propose after she’d broken her engagement to Prevost, since they’d gotten married that blustery afternoon in Central Park. 

Since they’d welcomed Teddy into the world. Since they’d become a family.

Burr paused right outside of the apartment door. That had changed too, since Theo had moved in; she had replaced the knocker with an ostentatious lion’s head she found with Eliza and Maria at a flea market, she had painted a flower field on a tiny canvas on a string that she’d hung around the doorknob, she had bought a monogrammed doormat (an _A_ an a _T_ , both with entirely more curlicues than necessary) and laid it outside of the apartment.

His life hadn’t been bad before Theo, but it certainly had a lot less color.

He unlocked the door and slipped inside. If she was awake, and he hoped she was, he was going to tell her about the job. Tell her that yes, their lives were going to change again, and he hoped it was going to be for the better.

Long hours at the office, stressful cases, demanding clients, and his favorite people in the world to come home to at the end of the day.

Sunbeams began filtering through the blinds, dancing across the Burrs’ marble countertops as Theo shifted in her place curled up on the couch. She held out her arms towards Burr as he quietly closed the door behind him.

“C’mere,” she said, and her sleep-heavy voice, curling into possessive fingers, threading themselves through his heart until he gave in and moved onto the couch next to her. He wriggled under her blanket, laying his head on her shoulder. Teddy was nestled on her chest, and he traced a knuckle down her wrinkled face as she opened her tiny mouth in an even tinier yawn. His hand ached, remembering the freight train contact with Alex’s face, but he ignored it.

The anger hadn’t left an empty hole in his chest, it had only made room for more of this. More early mornings with the woman he loved, with the tiny human who now shared their lives. 

The sun continued to rise, and, life changes be damned, Burr had never felt more content.  


  


_Theodosia Bartow-Burr and Teddy Brizo Burr_

Theo sat up, getting out of bed and crossing the floor with the military-like efficiency that having a daughter had instilled in her every move, on alert the minute Teddy made any sort of distressed noise. The crib was still in her and Aaron’s bedroom; the baby room hadn’t even been painted yet and the two of them were, in all honesty, loathe to move her from their sight.

Teddy wailed again, and Theo heard herself begin making quiet shushing noises, reaching down in an almost dreamlike state to pick up the squirming blanket bundle. She yawned. So did Teddy, nestling into the crook of her neck.

She glanced at the clock. Almost six, and still no sign of Aaron.

Glancing on the other side of the bed, just to make sure he hadn’t just fallen off and continued to sleep on the floor (that had happened more than once), Theo was forced to admit that he just hadn’t come home the previous night at all.

She’d gotten one text, a text of the _I have a lot to think about, can I use your car?_ variety that she’d responded positively to, looking forward to an evening alone, but the evening alone turned into a night alone, which turned into, as she scanned the empty bedroom one last time, a morning alone as well.

She was more than happy to let her husband have his space (he was nothing if not an introvert), but this was a little worrying. She yawned again, finding her phone even as her eyes, still blurry from the tired yawn, went out of focus for a brief second. She pressed the home button. No new messages, no new calls. Nothing from Aaron.

She called him first, and let it ring four times before hanging up. If he wanted to talk, he’d have answered it on the first or second ring. She tried Alex next. Nothing.

She pulled up Angelica’s contact info and pressed _call_.

“Hello?” James had answered her phone, his deep voice sounding just as tired as she felt. She cradled the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she shifted Teddy in her arms.

“Damn it,” she said in reply. “Ang isn’t at her place?”

Theo could almost _hear_ the eye roll. “Good morning to you, too, Theodosia.”

“Oh, shove it, Madison. I don’t know where Aaron is, and I’m guessing you wouldn’t have any leads, huh?”

“If you’re asking me if Thomas killed him, I’m looking at Thomas right now and he’s sleeping way too soundly to have committed murder last night.”

Theo collapsed down on the couch, maneuvering Teddy so that she was resting on her chest, tiny head laying on Theo’s collarbone. She muffled another yawn. “You’re no help at all, James.”

“I do my best.”

“G’night.”

“It’s six in the--”

Theo hung up and relaxed deeper into the couch. She folded her legs under herself and laid her head down on one of the plush throw pillows she’d picked out with Aaron when she first moved in, doing her best to stifle yet another yawn.

She was already half-asleep when the door slowly opened and her husband entered the apartment, looking far too awake for being out all night, looking kind of damp and altogether more at peace then he’d looked in weeks. He was clenching his left hand into a rather painful looking fist, and she made a mental note to ask him about that later.

But that was for later. Theo reached out for him and he met her halfway, climbing onto the couch with both her and their daughter, stealing half of her blanket and repaying with his body heat. She wanted to ask where he’d been, but couldn’t muster the energy. It didn’t matter anyway. He was with her now. 

The sun continued to rise, and Theo and Teddy, curled together with Aaron, fell back asleep.  


  


_George Washington and Martha Dandridge-Washington_

Martha leaned back, curving her spine against the uncomfortable subway seat and shifting her bag between her legs. She’d just pulled a triple shift, her feet ached, and she was finally going home.

The subway car was almost empty, but Martha knew that if she waited another fifteen minutes it would be packed with commuters heading to work. She didn’t envy them at all. She’d been there, she’d done that, and she’d take full days of antiseptic smell and unfashionable medical clogs and her fun scrubs over a desk job. 

She liked getting her hands dirty, she liked making people feel better, and she liked fixing things. 

Martha yawned, very nearly slipping and resting her head on the shoulder of the man next to her, but caught herself and jerked upright just in time. The man, a tall guy with dark skin and rings on all of his fingers but two, let out a low chuckle.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that.”

“Sorry,” Martha muttered, shifting her bag again, not in the mood to banter with strangers. The man laughed again.

“Not a morning person?”

“Not a person at all at the moment,” she snapped back, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling of the train almost immediately after that. She was a nice person, damn it, she didn’t have her husband’s road rage or short temper when asked incompetent questions. She’d have to admit to George later, he was rubbing off on her. “Sorry again. I just finished a triple, my feet are killing me.”

“My apologies,” the man said. “ My wife’s a nurse. Have you tried epsom salts?”

“ _I’m_ a nurse,” she replied, gesturing at her scrubs. They were patterned with Disney princesses; there was a Jasmine across her left kneecap. “And I’m definitely not new to the epsom salt game. I’m Martha Dandr… Uh, Washington.”

“Well met. I’m Henry Knox,” the man said, holding out a hand for Martha to shake. She did so, cocking her head to the side, sleep-deprived brain connecting the dots. 

“Lucy’s husband?”

“You know Lucy?” Knox asked, friendlier than he had been, if that was even possible, pumping her arm up and down. “That nursing life, man. Do you guys know _everybody?_ ” 

“Not everybody,” Martha replied, laughing as she extracted her hand from Knox’s enthusiastic grip. “She’s in the maternity ward, right? I’m emergency room. We’re friends on Facebook, though, I’m surprised I didn’t recognize you from all those damn pictures she keeps posting.”

“You’ll have to come over sometime,” Knox said. “You know London Train Books? It’s my shop uptown, we’re above that.”

“I’ve been there,” Martha said, “but it wasn’t here, it was in Massachusetts. Is that you, too?”

Knox shrugged, but he looked proud. “We do all right.”

The subway shuddered to a stop and Martha stood, hefting her bag over her shoulder.

“It was nice meeting you, Henry,” she said, accepting another handshake. “My husband and I own a coffeeshop, Sons Of Libertea, a few blocks from here. I owe you and Lucy a coffee, on the house.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” Knox said, pointing at her as she exited the train. She summoned just enough energy to send a small wave after him, to climb the twenty-eight steps to the subway exit, and to dodge the early morning crowds to her and George’s apartment building. They did pretty well, their home was on the thirtieth floor, high above the hustle and bustle. It was almost peaceful most of the time, meant to be an oasis in Martha’s usually hectic life, but not all the time.

And it sounded like, from the crashing and banging coming from behind the door, it wasn’t meant to be an oasis on that particular morning either.

George didn’t even hear her enter, he was too busy delivering volley after volley of obscenities towards a smoking pan, the smoking stove, and the beeping refrigerator, which was only beeping because one of the doors were hanging open. She moved around her husband, who jumped back in surprise, and she closed the fridge door with her elbow as she grabbed a glass.

“Morning,” she said, filling the glass with water from the refrigerator’s dispenser. George frowned.

“I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“You were too busy giving that pan an earful,” Martha said, raising an eyebrow towards the sink, the pan in question sitting in the left basin, still gently smoking. Something dark brown, verging on fully black, caked the bottom. “What did my cookware ever do to you?”

“I was trying to cook you breakfast,” George muttered, sending the pan his own petulant glance, and Martha, despite her aching feet and her tired eyes and her nose, assaulted by whatever George had burned, almost laughed. Her husband was a lot of things, business owner, master of backrubs, expert on rocking the hell out of suspenders and checkered shirts whenever she could coerce him into it, but a chef he was not.

(Neither of them were. The cookware was still almost pristine from their wedding registry, and it would likely stay like that until they both died. They lived in _New York City_ , for god’s sake, good food was as plentiful as pigeons, and less annoying to boot.)

Martha ran a hand down his arm before pouring some salt into the pan and letting it sit. She pulled a small bag out of her larger bag, two bagels she’d picked up at the deli before coming home; an everything and plain cream cheese for her, a plain with blueberry cream cheese for George.

“My treat?”

George let out an overly-dramatic sigh of relief towards the ceiling. “You’re the _best_.”

“I know.” Martha grinned into the kiss, feeling the tension in her back melt away as George wrapped his arms around her. The sun shone through buildings, making its way through their kitchen window, dappling the floor as George kissed her and she kissed him, two-stepping through their apartment, a dance with no music, a dance they’d been perfecting for almost ten years.

He dipped her, she spun him, laughing as he had to duck to make it under her arm.

The hardwood floors melted away under her nurse clogs as she rotated, her tired feet forgotten, her head on her husband’s chest, her hands clasped in his, their heartbeats fully in sync. 

The sun continued to rise, and the Washingtons kept dancing.  


  


_James Madison Jr._

Madison didn’t have anything better to do at five thirty in the morning, so he was reading.

Glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, purple blanket wrapped around his shoulders, the book light that Angelica had gotten for his birthday clipped to the spine of a Stephen King thriller, one he’d borrowed from Peggy at her insistence. Not usually his type of book, but he’d be damned if the youngest Schuyler didn’t have a way with words, as, he’d learned as he started reading, so did Stephen King. 

He did his best to immerse himself in the story, trying to ignore the other things that demanded his attention. Winter break was just around the corner, which meant finals, which also meant peppermint and chocolate baked goods at Libertwo, which also meant learning how to make said peppermint and chocolate baked goods at Libertwo. Lafayette had already sent him a rather extensive PDF file, filled to the brim with cookie recipes. 

Even thinking about decorating a Christmas cookie was enough to fill Madison with immediate existential dread, so he just kept reading his Stephen King book and refused to think about work. 

(It probably said something about a person when they would rather take a law and econ final than bake cookies, but Madison was nothing if not academically focused.)

He couldn’t focus; the words on the page were swimming, going back and forth and not making coherent sentences. He couldn’t remember the last bit he’d read, so he switched off the book light and marked his spot with the closest piece of paper, a receipt for Chipotle for a steak burrito (Angelica), a veggie bowl (Thomas), and chips, guac, and a cheese quesadilla (himself). They’d gone the previous night, before his two significant others had convinced him that going to a club had been a good idea.

The sun hadn’t yet started to rise as Madison got out of bed, moving slowly and deliberately so he didn’t wake Thomas, laying on his stomach with his hair still covered in glitter, or Angelica, on her back with one arm flung over her eyes, dramatic even when she was asleep. As he shuffled around, trying to locate his left sock (somehow it had come off his foot while he was sleeping), a phone started buzzing.

It was Angelica’s, still in the pocket of the jacket she’d worn out the previous night. Theo was calling, and Madison answered. 

“Hello?” he said, quieter than normal, which was a feat in it of itself. Even so, Angelica shifted under the comforter. She was a light sleeper; Madison had once woken her up by shutting the refrigerator door a little too hard from all the way in the kitchen. He wasn’t worried about Thomas, who could probably sleep through cannon fire. “Good morning to you, too, Theodosia.”

She sounded worried, Burr hadn’t been home all night. Madison hadn’t heard anything, and he wasn’t surprised. He’d done his best to stay out of the whole conflict with Burr and Thomas, much to the eternal chagrin of both Thomas and Angelica, who both thrived off of conflict of any sort. He locked Angelica’s phone after Theo hung up on him, slipping it back into the pocket of her jeans, grabbing his book, and retreating into the living room.

He remembered when it was something different, this apartment, strictly where Thomas lived, a place where Madison spent a lot of time, sure, but not a _home_. Now it was his just as much as it was Angelica’s, just as much as it was Thomas’s. He’d bought the ottoman by Angelica’s favorite chair, a third of the books on the high bookshelf were his, he was in most of the photos Thomas insisted on covering their refrigerator in. 

(Madison’s favorite was one from the summer; they’d gone to Coney Island on a date and Angelica had taken a selfie, he was smiling at the camera, she was grinning over at him, in the middle of saying something, and Thomas was in the background, oblivious and, for once, not at all ready for a picture. After seeing it, he’d tried to ban it from the fridge. Madison could count three copies of the picture from where he was standing.)

Madison made himself comfortable on the couch, putting his feet up on the aforementioned ottoman and opening the book again. He’d barely gotten through one sentence (albeit three times over; he was still a little distracted), when Thomas landed on the couch next to him, shifting closer and nudging his head under Madison’s chin. Glitter landed all over the book’s pages.

“You’re getting glitter everywhere, babe,” he murmured. Thomas yawned, grinning like he couldn’t help himself.

“Don’t care.”

Madison shook the book out over the wooden part of the floor, being careful not to get any on the rug, not thinking about how Thomas had probably trailed glitter all the way from the bedroom to the living room. They had a vacuum for a reason.

“Theo called Angelica,” he said, scratching his fingers lightly along Thomas’s hairline. “Aaron didn’t come home last night.”

“Don’t care,” Thomas said again. “That feels so nice, _damn_.”

Madison laughed quietly. They hadn’t had a lot to drink the previous night, but even a few beers would’ve been enough to give Thomas a headache worse than any subsequent hangover. He didn’t advertise that fact, preferring to be the enigmatic partier, buying shots and dancing on tables until he could go home and crash with a bottle of Advil and all of the curtains drawn. It wasn’t the best version of self-care, but Madison had known him since middle school. It happened.

He heard Angelica move in the bedroom, heard a soft yawn and the rustling of covers. He should get up, too, be responsible, make some breakfast, maybe crack open the digital cookbook Lafayette had sent him, but he found that he didn’t really want to.

The sun continued to rise, and Madison, stealing body heat from Thomas and ignoring the small piles of glitter everywhere, kept reading his book.  


  


_Thomas Jefferson_

Thomas shifted. For some reason his left side was warm, a comfortable, even temperature, but his right was cold. He’d called middle of the bed the previous night; this wasn’t supposed to happen. Middle of the bed meant warmth all night long, dammit, and here he was with some half-and-half situation that was more suited to someone on the edge of a bed, not the middle.

He lifted his head, immediately regretting the action as soon as it was done. He wasn’t hungover, this was more of a headache that was also verging on hungover situation. He hated that he got headaches; James bugged him constantly to go to the doctor, but fuck the doctor.

He did a quick inventory of his situation. Angelica on his left where she’d been all night, lipstick still on, covered in glitter. Himself, also covered in glitter, in the middle because he’d called it. James, to his right…

Nope. Well, _that_ explained it.

The mattress still boasted a vaguely James-shaped dent, and he’d draped the blankets back over Thomas in a very thoughtful gesture, but he was nowhere to be seen. Thomas checked his left again, just to make sure James hadn’t tried to weasel his way into the middle when he wasn’t looking. Again, nope.

Thomas briefly considered waking Angelica up. She was breathtaking, even with her smudged lipstick and her tangled hair and her mouth open in a silent snore. Thomas still couldn’t believe his luck; they’d met in France, they’d had their fun in France, and now she was basically living in his apartment. She made him feel safe, with her brash personality and the fierce way she’d fight for the people she cared about. It had taken him a while to gain her trust, and even longer to prove he was worthy of her sisters’ trust, but he hadn’t stopped trying for a second. Between her and James, he had good reason to never again ask any favors from the big man upstairs for as long as he lived.

He decided against disturbing Angelica. Mornings weren’t her favorite, and he liked having all of his limbs intact. 

After another small internal debate, he rolled out of bed, accidentally taking most of the comforter along with him. Angelica moaned, flipping over and covering her head with a pillow. Thomas grinned, unable to help himself, and dragged the comforter over her shoulders before finding a pair of slippers (too small for him) and a hoodie (too big for him). It wasn’t until he opened the bedroom door that he realized the slippers were Angelica’s (they were shaped like Ariel from _The Little Mermaid), and the hoodie was James’s (a touristy New York City one with an apple on it that Angelica had bought him the last time they were in Times Square)._

He shrugged and continued on. It wasn’t like he wasn’t allowed to borrow clothes. Hell, Alex Hamilton had borrowed his favorite bow tie and _still_ hadn’t returned it.

He half-expected to see James in his usual spot at the dining room table, textbooks open and head bent, the epitome of concentration, but he wasn’t there. Instead, he was on the very end of the couch, leaning against the armrest closest to the window, bathed in light from the standing lamp with his nose firmly in a book.

He was so serious, wearing one of Thomas’s t-shirts (the one from the Chainsmokers show that Angelica had dragged them both to during the summer), with his glasses perched on the end of his nose, eyes moving and devouring line after line of text. James was Thomas’s foil, he always had been, the two of them contrasting and complimenting each other ever since they were kids in Virginia. 

He made Thomas feel safe, too, in a different way than Angelica did. His calm, reassuring presence had been a constant in Thomas’s life; even when he was running around France like an idiot, he knew James was back home, studying and learning and living his own life, quick and ready with a text or a phone call at the exact time that Thomas needed it. 

He dropped down on the couch next to James, pretending he hadn’t seen his startled head shoot up, and moved closer. Glitter from the previous night fell out of his hair, covering James’s book, his hands, and most of the blanket, James complained about it, and Thomas couldn’t help but grin.

James continued reading, scratching his fingernails along Thomas’s hairline, and, Thomas didn’t know if it was that or just James’s presence, but his headache didn’t seem that bad anymore.

Angelica came out of the bedroom, hair pushed back with one of Thomas’s headbands and her face washed like last night’s makeup never even existed. Without a word to either of them, she pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders and pushed her way onto the couch. No words were needed. The three of them fit together like a three-piece jigsaw puzzle, like coffee, milk, and sugar, all mixed up until it was impossible for them to separate.

The sun continued to rise, and Thomas, his head on James’s lap and Angelica curled up next to him, never felt more safe in his life.  


  


_Angelica Schuyler_

Angelica woke up to an empty bed.

This wouldn’t have been strange if she’d been at home, in the apartment she shared with Peggy, in her own bed. She woke up alone most of the time there; sometimes Peggy climbed in with her, and sometimes James or Thomas or both would sleep over, but an overwhelming amount of time she woke up alone. That was never the case at Thomas’s house.

She usually woke up first, light sleeper that she was, and was able to steal a few minutes to greet the day, rubbing sleep from her eyes and cracking her neck, slowly gaining the energy to get out of bed. She’d untangle herself from Thomas (he had no personal space, awake or sleeping), pick up James’s pillow (it always ended up on the floor somehow), and go about her morning routine.

This morning, though, the bed was empty, even though the sky was still dark.

Angelica shifted under the covers, feeling around with her feet. James had been on the far right side, and his spot was cold. Thomas had called the middle, and the middle was still warm.

_If James made breakfast and they’re eating it all without me, I swear to fucking--_

She yawned, feeling last night’s makeup crackle around her eyes. She hadn’t had the energy to wash her face the night prior; they’d convinced James that yes, clubbing was a good idea, and jumping around a dark dance floor, glitter filling the air and alcohol flowing freely, didn’t leave a lot of energy at the end of the night.

James had had fun, she could tell. He’d been giggling. Angelica was pretty sure that bringing out James’s giggling side was one of life’s greatest joys.

Shaking some glitter out of her hair, Angelica pushed it back with one of Thomas’s headbands from the top drawer of his dresser. She spent a lot of time at his and James’s apartment, but she had yet to delegate a dresser drawer for some of her clothing, even though it would’ve come in handy more times than one. 

Sometimes it felt like she didn’t belong here, like she was an outsider, like she needed to be back in her apartment, with her family, not pretending to shack up with Thomas Jefferson and James Madison. Sometimes it felt like she was kidding herself.

She’d fallen asleep in her jeans and tanktop, so she quickly stripped and stole a pair of Thomas’s sweatpants and her favorite of James’s zip-up hoodies. The bathroom’s freezing cold tile floor caused her to hop around and curse for a couple seconds, until she jumped onto the purple bath mat and shuffled around on that, washing the makeup off of her face, brushing her teeth, and putting on the lotion that all three of them shared. It smelled like sandalwood.

She went back into the bedroom, grabbing her phone out of her jacket pocket and hopping back up onto the bed, wrapping herself in one of Thomas’s blankets and opening up Instagram. There hadn’t been a lot of updates since she’d last checked; one from Theo of Teddy, a video of her raising her tiny fists to the ceiling and yawning. A picture from Peggy, a text conversation between her and Herc Mulligan, one rife with heart emojis. She rolled her eyes and liked it, smiling despite herself. One from Alex, a blurry shot of the nighttime city skyline. The caption said _late night adventures with @aaronburrjr are what it’s all about #blackeye #dontask_. She made a mental note to ask.

Hushed conversation coming from the living room piqued her interest enough for her to leave the warm nest she’d made on the bed. She didn’t smell breakfast, but that didn’t mean Thomas and James hadn’t eaten it all.

She shuffled into the living room, blanket still wrapped around herself, hiding a grin behind one hand as soon as she caught sight of them. James had clearly been alone, reading on the couch, as calm as could be, and Thomas had clearly invaded his personal space, and subsequently gotten glitter all over the room.

They were tangled on the couch, James brushing Thomas’s hair back, Thomas almost asleep in his lap. Angelica couldn’t help herself; she crossed the floor in half a heartbeat and pushed her way in, draping the blanket over Thomas as well as she got comfortable.

She belonged here, she realized, pressed together on a couch with the two humans she’d decided to share her heart with. She belonged in her apartment with Peggy, she belonged wherever Eliza and Maria decided to settle down, she belonged _here_ , in this apartment, with Thomas and with James. Her pictures were on the refrigerator, her books were on the bookshelf, and, as soon as she could bring some of her clothes over, one of those dresser drawers would be hers as well.

The sun continued to rise, and Angelica watched it through the curtains, chin tilted confidently, warm and satisfied. 

  


_Elizabeth Schuyler and Maria Lewis_

Eliza was always the earliest riser out of her sisters, and, even after she moved out, that continued to be true. She always found things to do in the morning, from leftover photos that needed editing, to books that needed reading, to pans left in the sink that needed scrubbing, there was always something that needed her attention.

That particular morning, however, there was nothing.

Eliza had shuffled through the entire apartment, her socked feet making no noise on the wooden floorboards, looking for something to take up her time until it was a more reasonable hour. Her phone was no help, she’d gone through her normal app refreshing routine until there was nothing left to be done, and it was too early to be texting. 

She was too restless to read, and even the book she’d borrowed from Alex wasn’t holding her attention like it should’ve. She opened the refrigerator; milk, a third of a cheese plate from dinner at Jefferson’s two nights prior, two bottles of Redd’s. She wasn’t hungry, anyway. Nudging the door closed with her foot, Eliza joined Maria in the living room.

Maria had fallen asleep on the couch the previous night, watching some romantic comedy and eating a box of Cheez-its. Eliza hadn’t had the heart to wake her up, and had instead turned off the TV, closed the box of Cheez-its, and covered her girlfriend with a blanket. Sleep had been coming easier to Maria, but sometimes it still eluded her. Eliza wanted to let her get as much sleep as possible.

She sat on the floor, a few steps away from the couch where Maria still slept, and took out her phone again. Nothing new, but she hadn’t been expecting it.

Maria moved in her sleep, fingers clenching into fists, eyes scrunched shut as she shifted on the couch. Eliza moved closer. This wasn’t new, Maria’s nightmares. They’d been happening less frequently since they’d moved in together and Maria had started seeing a therapist, but they still happened.

“No,” Maria muttered in her sleep. Eliza moved to take her hand, but Maria jerked away.

“GET OFF OF ME!” she yelled, and Eliza jumped to her feet, immediately in a combative stance. Maria’s chest heaved and tears ran down her cheeks, but she wasn’t awake. 

“Maria, it’s me,” Eliza said, not bothering to keep her voice low. “You’re dreaming, you need to wake up now. It’s time to wake up.”

Maria writhed on the couch, teeth bared as she fought against something invisible to Eliza. She didn’t want to touch her in case that only made things worse, but she needed to wake up. Eliza took a deep breath.

“MARIA!”

Maria responded to her yell with one of her own, her eyes snapping open as she sat up and screamed. Eliza was there in a heartbeat, wrapping her arms around Maria, her shaking shoulders, her chest wracked by sobs. The other girl buried her face into the crook of Eliza’s neck.

“He was there,” she said, her voice muffled. Eliza ran a hand up and down her back. 

“You’re here, you’re here with me, I promise I’m here, I’m real,” she said, keeping up a steady stream of calm words. “I’m here with you, I love you Maria, I love you and I’m here.”

Maria curled her arms around Eliza’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

Eliza made a disbelieving noise, leaning back until she was able to look her girlfriend right in her watering eyes. She was beautiful, her curly hair spiraling past her shoulders, her red cheeks, the spots of last night’s makeup under her eyes.

“I _love_ you, Maria. Everything about you. I’ll always be here for you, through anything and everything.”

Maria leaned forward and their lips brushed, soft and sweet and real. “I love you, too, 'Liza.”

They settled down on the couch, limbs tangled and hair a tapestry of brown and black, splayed out against the pillows as they embraced. Eliza would have been content to stay like that all morning in Maria's arms, quiet and safe and secure. It felt right, it felt like home. 

The sun continued to rise, and Eliza and Maria endured together. 

  


_Margarita Ann Schuyler_

Peggy wasn’t used to being alone. Being a Schuyler sister was usually enough to reassure her that she’d never be by herself; sharing an apartment with Eliza and Angelica drove her up the wall more often than not, with all of the sharing, and all of the _sharing_ , and all of the god damn _sharing_.

(The Schuylers shared a lot. From bed space --Angelica’s mattress was the firmest, and sometimes Peggy just needed that extra back support-- to food in the cabinets, to makeup, toiletries, books, music, and everything in between. The three of them, by some miracle, were the same shoe size.)

Most of the time, Peggy wasn’t sure at any given moment what was hers or what belonged to her sisters.

Not lately, however. Eliza had done the unthinkable and moved out; taking a third of the cereal in the bottom cabinet with her, taking the best shampoo that Peggy had thought was Angelica’s with her, and taking herself (and her loud morning singing, and her crepe making skills, and her flower arrangements) with her as well. Peggy was happy for her; Maria was wonderful, and their new apartment was cute, but that didn’t negate the fact that she missed the shit out of her.

Angelica still lived with Peggy, _technically_. Sometimes, at least twice a week, Peggy would have two other roommates too, ones that piled on Angelica’s bed and ate all of the leftovers and used all of the hot water. It was nice though, having Tom and James around, and Peggy was used to it. She hid all the good leftovers, anyway.

But a lot of the time Angelica was at Tom’s apartment, and Peggy was slowly learning how to live by herself.

Her sisters had no idea that she hated it. They were in constant communication via texts and Snapchats and tweets, and Peggy never mentioned that she hated it. Hated how her voice echoed while she sang along to some Usher song, hated being able to cook whatever she wanted without being reamed out for burning the bottom of the pan, hated being the only sister rattling around in the Schuyler sister apartment. 

Peggy stretched in bed, reaching her hands over her head and cracking her back once, twice, three times. It was still dark; her room had that dusky quality that only came from the tiny slice of time before the sun rose, and she couldn’t get back to sleep.

She debated calling Eliza, seeing if her sister was awake and ready for a discussion about _The Office_ (she’d been rewatching it with Eliza, along with Maria, who had never seen it before), and Peggy had opinions that needed sharing, but she decided against it. Angelica was also out. She hated mornings, and Peggy knew that if she’d try to call her she’d get either a dial tone or, if she was particularly unlucky, Angelica _would_ answer and she’d get an earful and would then be hung up on.

Peggy knew who she wanted to talk to, but she wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk to her.

_Oh, fuck it,_ she thought, and found her phone in her mass of blankets and composed a text. _Who wouldn’t want to talk to me at six in the morning?_

**herc mulligaaannnn**

PS: dang boy, u up??

Not even two seconds later, she’d already gotten a response.

**herc mulligaaannnn**

HM: yeah

HM: everything ok?

Peggy grinned, wrapping herself even tighter in her blanket burrito. Herc was the most patient and kindhearted person she’d ever met in her entire life, which was why she’d been so surprised when he was so fun to hang out with. She’d even had him over once when Angelica had Tom and James over, and the five of them had demolished a few bottles of Tom’s moscato and played _Cards Against Humanity_ for hours, and then taken the subway downtown. They’d held hands under the billboards, and it had been loud and bright and beautiful.

Peggy lived for spontaneous nights like that, and she was thrilled when he’d come along for the ride.

**herc mulligaaannnn**

PS: im fine, ang is with t & j and i’m bored

PS: okay and lonely

PS: im not used to being by myself

HM: i’d come over, but i’m in the middle of a project

HM: want me to come over anyway?

PS: nah, u have work in an hr right? ill come bother u there :)

HM: i’ll hold you to that, peggy schuy

Peggy grinned, burrowing underneath her covers, glad no one was around to witness her face heating up. She was usually immune to the charms and wiles of cute people of any gender, preferring to guard her heart and stay on alert, but she never thought she needed any defenses against Herc. And, after he’d gotten in, she found she didn’t want any.

**herc mulligaaannnn**

PS: so tell me about ur project??

PS: is it a hat to go with the scarf u made me last month

PS: bc i would be THRILLED

HM: want a sneak peek?

PS: YES

He sent a set of pictures through, and, one after another, Peggy scrolled through them, unable to stop her jaw from dropping in shock. It was a black dress, a little shorter than knee-length, with three-quarter sleeves and pockets. It looked like it would be form-fitting until the flared waist, and the skirt looked like it would flare out, perfect for spinning.

Herc had started embroidering at the bottom, a tangle of leaves and stems and flowers, blush peonies and magenta peonies and coral peonies.

Peonies were her favorite flower, she remembered telling him that night in Times Square.

**herc mulligaaannnn**

PS: it’s beautiful!!

PS: i wonder who gave u the ideas for peonies, hmm?

HM: well it’s for you, so i thought i’d use your favorite flowers

HM: you really like it?

PS: HERCULES MULLIGAN

PS: i cant believe you

HM: so you like it?

PS: OF COURSE I LIKE IT

Peggy’s face had passed being warm, and had moved to full-on blushing. She scrolled through the pictures again, heart pounding as she noticed more little details, the silver buttons trailing down the back of the dress, the stitching at the bottom, the _pockets_ , hell, the pockets were probably the best part of the entire thing. She couldn’t wait to try it on.

The sun continued to rise, and Peggy stayed in bed, wrapped up in a blanket with her phone still in her hand, the screen lit up with text after text reassuring that she was never alone. 

  


_Hercules Mulligan_

Herc liked mornings. He liked being up before everyone else, while the sky was still dark, creating. He used to never understand why Lafayette liked baking at four in the morning, but after he’d started a routine of getting up early to sew, he got it.

It was therapeutic, it was less urgent, it took the pressure off.

It was during these early-morning stress-relieving sewing sessions that he started making a dress for Peggy Schuyler. All three of the sisters had given him their measurements earlier in the year, after he’d expressed desire to start trying to create more elaborate dresses. Helping Eliza create a dress for Theo’s wedding out of the thrifted lace monstrosity had been fun, and he was itching to get back into it.

Nothing had clicked, nothing had made sense, until he found a spool of soft black fabric on sale uptown. It was perfect; thin enough to be breathable, thick enough to hold up embroidery, and he’d bought the entire spool. It reminded him of Peggy, pretty and versatile and risky, and he’d dug up the Post-It with her measurements on it and got to work.

He’d managed to keep the dress a secret for weeks, even when she came over to hang out with him and his roommates, he kept it a secret. Even when there was nothing more he’d like to do than show off what he was creating for her, he kept it a secret.

Until that morning.

He’d been awake before the sun, sitting on the edge of his bed with the mannequin positioned in front of him, pins in his teeth and needle threaded, working his ass off, when Peggy texted him. She was lonely, and that was something he wouldn’t stand for. So, he’d snapped pictures of every angle of the dress, told her it was hers, and, hopefully, made her morning a little bit brighter.

Making Peggy Schuyler’s life brighter wasn’t necessarily his life’s work, but it was a good chunk of it.

He continued to sew, only pausing when Lafayette poked his head through the door, hair untied and eyes frantic.

“ _Ami, je l'ai fait quelque chose de stupide, je parlais à Adrienne et moi--_ ”

“Hold up,” Herc said as soon as he got all of the pins out of his mouth. “Slow down, Gil, go talk to John if you want someone to understand whatever the fuck you’re saying.”

Lafayette took a very deep breath and composed himself.

“I was speaking with Adri, and--”

“You can come in, you know,” Herc interrupted again. Lafayette glared, but came in anyway, shutting the door after Georges, who was right on his heels. Herc almost said something (there was a strict _no cat in Herc’s room_ apartment rule), but Lafayette was so worked up that he ignored it.

“I told her I wanted her to move here,” he continued, pacing around Herc’s sewing supplies, the cat following his every move. “To America, with me. What the hell was I thinking, Hercules? Why did you let me do this?”

“One,” Herc said, “I did _nothing_. This isn’t my fault. It’s important to me that you know that. Two, why’s that a big deal? So, you were forward with her. I thought that was a good thing?”

Lafayette cringed. “I hung up on her right after.”

Herc threw a sheathed pair of scissors at him. “How do you say _idiot_ in French? Call her back!”

“What if she’s mad at me?”

“ _I’m_ mad at you!”

Lafayette pouted, and Herc grinned and ignored it. He’d known Lafayette for years, and was a pro at ignoring him when he was pouting. It kind of came with the territory. He pinned a sleeve back as he wove more thread onto his embroidery needle as Lafayette fiddled with his phone, flipping it back and forth from hand to hand. If he'd known Lafayette for a long time, he'd known Adrienne for almost as long, and knew _exactly_ how many years they'd been dancing around each other, one eventually moving to another continent to avoid the fact that they wanted nothing more than to be with the other.

He'd hoped that when Adrienne had visited they'd work through their issues, but that clearly hadn't happened.

“Is there anything I can do?” Herc asked eventually as he continued to sew.

“ _Non, merci_ ,” Lafayette said, sounding distracted. Herc shrugged one shoulder and got back to work.

Minutes passed. Lafayette was lost in thought, sprawled across Herc’s bed, absentmindedly petting Georges and watching as Herc sewed a particularly difficult button onto the back of the dress. Herc didn’t know what was going on in his brain, all he knew was that Lafayette was his best friend and, like with Peggy, if he could make his life brighter, it was all in a job well done.

The sun continued to rise, and Herc appraised his work, and was content. 

  


_Gilbert du Motier (and Georges the cat)_

Lafayette had promised himself that he would sleep in, which had failed spectacularly.

He was always the first one awake in the apartment, either using their kitchen to get a head start on the day or down at Libertea, apron tied around his waist and headphones on, preheating the oven and mixing bowl after bowl of scone batter. He liked it, liked the routine and the warmth and the scent of rising dough, but there was no way that waking up early every morning was good for him.

So, the promise to sleep in, and the ensuing broken promise.

Adrienne liked his early morning tendencies; she liked that when she was heading to work at ten in the morning in France that Lafayette was up and about in New York. She liked calling him then, listening to him describe the things he was baking that morning and in turn telling him stories about whatever agency she was working for. That was one of the highlights of any given day, talking to her, listening to her, being in her presence despite the time difference.

Lafayette turned over in bed, grunting softly as Georges leapt up onto his back, kneading the blanket with his paws and getting comfortable. Great, now he was stuck laying on his stomach, a cat perched on his back, fully awake when he should be sleeping in.

His phone buzzed, and he somehow managed to take it off the charger and hold it up to his ear without disturbing Georges.

“ _Hello?_ ” he said in French, having glanced at the screen to confirm it was Adri before answering. “ _I know I said I was going to sleep in, but I guess I was lying. I tried, though!_ ”

“ _I don’t believe you,_ ” she answered, her voice light and happy. Lafayette could picture her as clear as day, in the back of a car with her makeup done to perfection, eating cheese curls out of a bag with a fork so she wouldn’t ruin her lipstick. “ _You worry me, Gilbert du Motier. Taking care of yourself halfway across the world._ ”

Lafayette laughed. “ _When are you coming back to visit, then?_ ”

“ _Whenever you want, love._ ”

“ _For good this time?_ ” Lafayette asked, immediately shutting his mouth when he realized what he’d asked. On the other end, Adri was silent, and Lafayette sat up, Georges jumping off of his back with a startled yelp. “ _Adri?_ ”

Nothing. Lafayette ended the call before he could say anything else, tossing the phone across the room and falling back onto his bed, exhaling a very defeated breath towards the ceiling.

What was that? What had he _asked_ of her? Coming over to America for good? Was that a proposal, a dumb, awkward proposal that really could’ve only come from him? Georges hopped up on his chest, purring and nudging at the bottom of Lafayette’s chin with his nose.

“ _Chaton_ ,” Lafayette said, picking Georges up and holding him above his head, “you have no idea what a colossal fool I am.” 

Georges meowed. Lafayette frowned.

“Shut up.”

He sat up, put Georges on the floor, grabbed the phone, and, with the cat trailing him, retreated to Herc’s room. He was awake, working on Peggy’s dress, and Lafayette collapsed (rather dramatically) onto his bed and told Herc the whole story.

Lafayette was emotional. Herc wasn’t impressed. He'd thrown a pair of scissors.

Lafayette had fallen back onto Herc’s pillow, running a hand down Georges’ back as the cat purred from his spot on his chest. He wanted Adri to be with him in the country he’d made his home, but he didn’t want to ask too much of her. 

“If you love her, what’s the big deal?” Herc asked after he finished putting a button on the back of the dress. “Call her back. Tell her what you meant. It’s not a big deal, Laf, I promise.”

"Says you," Lafayette muttered. Herc glared.

"Remember how happy you both were when she was here for Christmas last year?" Herc asked. "Remember how she didn't want to leave? Yeah. _That's_ when you should've asked her."

"I should've asked her a lot of times."

"That's true."

Lafayette groaned, and Georges meowed. Even he sounded distressed.

"I love her," he said, and Herc looked over, eyebrows raised like he knew. "I want to start a life with her, together. _Here_ , if she'll come."

He paused.

"What if she doesn't want that?"

“You won't know anything unless you ask," Herc said, and turned back towards his mannequin. Lafayette looked up at the cieling, only glancing down when his phone buzzed. A text blinked onto the screen, and he swiped to read.

**♥ADRI♥**

AdN: love, we need to talk

AdN: sorry for freezing up earlier, i wasn’t expecting you to say that you know

AdN: but ive been thinking. call me when you get a chance

AdN: i love you♥

_You won't know anything unless you ask._

The sun continued to rise, and Lafayette, with Georges curled in his lap, thought about the future.

  


**ONE THING**

  


_Alexander Hamilton and John Henry Laurens_

Alex unlocked the apartment door, slipping inside and shutting the door behind him. He was sure what he was going to see (a dark apartment, set up exactly how he’d left it), but wasn’t prepared for John to be there. He was waiting, sitting cross-legged on the farthest couch with his phone in his lap, but he looked up as soon as he heard the door close.

“Alex!” John shot up off of the couch as soon as he caught sight of him, skirting the furniture even in the near darkness. Alex let himself appreciate John for a brief second; his sweatpants slung low on his hips, his bare, freckle-splattered chest, his somehow attractive bedhead. “God, you took forever. I’ve been waiting up for _hours_ \--”

“Why were you waiting?” Alex asked, pulling him close enough to brush their lips together before John tugged himself out of his grip, reaching out an arm and beckoning for Alex to take it.

“I gotta show you something. You can tell me where the hell you were and why the hell you have a black eye in a minute, promise. Come with me?”

Alex took John’s outstretched hand and allowed himself to be pulled along, around the island, through the apartment. He could hear muffled noises from Laf’s room, soft muttering from Herc’s. Other than that, the entire building was silent, waiting, with baited breath. Waiting for the unknown, waiting for the answer to a question Alex had never asked. 

John squeezed his hand, grinning back at him, curly hair wild and wreathed in flame, and, behind him, the sun continued to rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: John, Alex, and the start of a new day.
> 
> (If you live in the States, please vote on Tuesday! Love you lots and be safe!)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com! The hashtag on all social media is #SOLTEA, and yes, I do track it!
> 
> -Gab


	37. You Great Unfinished Symphony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and John.
> 
> (With everything going on, this was a difficult chapter for me to write. I hope this story can be some form of solace, and thank you from the bottom of my heart for supporting it thus far.)

Alex loitered outside of John’s bedroom, hands in his pockets, leaning up against the wall. He’d been there for over a minute, waiting for John to get whatever it was that he was getting, so they could go see whatever it was that he wanted Alex to see. 

“Laurens,” he hissed through the crack in the door, doing his best to stay quiet. He didn’t think anyone was still asleep; he could hear muffled voices coming from Herc’s room, but with roommates it was always best to be courteous. “What the hell are you--”

John pushed the door open with his foot, staggering forward under the weight of his entire comforter, which he dumped on Alex with finality. “Here’s a present, you’re welcome.”

“What’s this for?” Alex balled the blanket up, hefting it in his arms. “You’re being real cryptic, John, and I’m not sure--”

“Come with me,” John said, not a question like it had been five minutes prior, but an invocation. A command. He stepped in front of Alex and, again, looked over his shoulder at Alex like they were the only two people in the world. “I promise it’s nothing weird, I just have something I want you to see.”

“We have work in like forty minutes,” Alex said, but it didn’t matter. He would’ve followed John anywhere, and together they crossed the apartment, Alex ducking into Lafayette’s room first as John held the door open. 

It was empty just like Alex had expected; Lafayette was probably the one in Herc’s room, Georges curled on his lap, talking about something. There was a lamp on Lafayette’s nightstand, casting a small bubble of light around the room. It illuminated a slice of the walls, a collage of pictures thumbtacked to a square of corkboard, and Alex put the blanket on Lafayette’s bed and walked towards it as John heaved open the window.

“Alex,” he said, and Alex looked over. John was halfway out the window, one foot on the fire escape and one still in Lafayette’s room. Alex had known there was a fire escape there, but he’d never been on it. “C’mon, get over here.”

“Wait,” Alex said, turning back to the pictures. He heard John sigh like he was sick of Alex holding everything up, and the window closed with a _click_. John sidled up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“What’s the holdup?”

“Look,” Alex said, and John leaned his chin on his shoulder. The pictures were arranged in a neat rectangle and they all had a signature in the corner, a looped _E.S._. “Who signs pictures?”

“Eliza, apparently,” John replied. “I get it. Artists want to mark their stuff.”

“Like that?” Alex asked, jerking a thumb at Lafayette’s ceiling, towards John’s painted and signed flag mural. “Remember when I first moved in and you told me you hadn’t painted that?”

John laughed, his breath warm on Alex’s neck. “I didn’t want you to think I was a pretentious artist asshole.”

“Tough, ‘cause that’s exactly what you are.”

John laughed again, and Alex leaned back into his embrace, looking back over Eliza’s pictures. Most of them featured Lafayette in some way or another; him behind the counter at Libertea, him sitting across from Angelica at the big table, throwing wadded up straw wrappers at each other, him sitting cross-legged on the shop’s floor, trying to catch bits of cookie that Herc was throwing from his perch on top of a bar stool.

There were a series of pictures from the night they’d spent at the Schuylers, Christmas Eve the previous year. These were a little more diverse, a few of Jefferson and Herc behind their makeshift bar in the Schuylers’ kitchen, a few of Burr, Theo, and Peggy as they played a spirited game of cards, a few of Lafayette, Adrienne, John, and Alex, all piled together in front of the fireplace, making various faces at the camera. 

And the rest were random, interspersed between Eliza’s perfectly done photos; a Polaroid from George and Martha’s wedding, dated a few years before Lafayette had even come to America. A very awkward nine by twelve from a real photography studio, of Jefferson, Madison and Angelica, in ugly sweaters with deadly serious expressions on their faces. Adrienne’s headshot. A Schuyler sister Christmas card. The program from Burr and Theo’s wedding. The drawing John had done of him and Georges as a gift. The photo strip from their Maine vacation, Herc and Lafayette and John and Alex pressed together in the booth, sweaty and sandy and laughing. 

“Laf’s a big sap,” John said, straightening one of the pictures. “I look fuckin’ great in all of these, by the way.”

“Of course you do,” Alex murmured, only half-listening. There were a few photos that were a little older, predating him, before he started at Libertea. John with braces, Herc knitting before Libertea was officially open to the public, a younger Washington with his arms around both Lafayette and Jefferson in Times Square. 

“What are you thinking about?” John asked, leaning farther over Alex’s shoulder, until half of his face was engulfed by John’s untied hair. “It better be me, and how much you want to make out with me, or how--”

“How glad I am that I met you?” Alex cut him off. “How fate or some shit pulled the best strings in the universe to have me stalk Burr, and go to Libertea with him that day, and to have Washington want to hire someone, and to have the person he hired be _me?_ How happy I am that _somehow_ things worked out, that the first time I kissed you wasn’t the last time? How I...”

He trailed off in the wake of John’s laughter.

“God. I never did understand why Burr’s always telling you to talk less, but now…”

Alex turned around and pushed John’s shoulder. “You love hearing me talk.”

“That’s true.” John pushed him back and then pulled him closer in the same movement, wrapping his arms around Alex’s neck and pressing his lips to his. Alex could’ve kissed John for hours without breath and it would never get old; he was warm and familiar and calming, a safe harbor. The first of many Alex had found in New York, but by far the most important.

“We should probably get out of here,” he said as soon as they broke apart for more than a second for air. “If Laf comes back and we’re making out in his room--”

“Fair,” John said, and took Alex’s hand. “Let’s go make out somewhere else.”

He led him to the window, hiking it open again and letting Alex out onto the fire escape first. Alex started climbing, glancing back every few seconds to make sure John was behind him. The wrought metal stairs were cold and precarious at first, but they turned out to be sturdy enough. It wasn’t until he was halfway up that he realized he’d left the comforter back in Lafayette’s bedroom.

It got brighter the higher he climbed, sunbeams filtering through the skyscrapers to light his way up the fire escape. John bumped the back of his legs every once in a while, a gesture that would’ve been annoying coming from anyone else, but from John it was endearing and Alex relished every brief second of contact.

As soon as they reached the top, John took his hand again as they turned, facing inwards, towards the city. Alex had never been to the roof before, and he was struck for the first time just how tall their building was. He could see farther than he thought he’d be able to; the colorful streaks of New York waking up for the morning, horns blaring far below and the faint sounds of people moving, talking, living. John bumped his hip with his own.

“It’s a good place, huh?”

“New York?” Alex replied with a question of his own, leaning into the contact. “Of course it is. I moved thousands of miles to be here. _You’re_ here.”

It was quiet for a few heartbeats as they shared body heat and held hands and looked at the lights.

“In New York you can be a new man,” John said softly, like a mantra he’d repeated to himself dozens of times, brushing over Alex’s knuckles with his thumb. 

“Huh?”

“When I first came here,” he said in explanation, “I didn’t have a job and I lived in this shithole with like six other people I didn’t know. I walked all day, this route through Times Square, through the park, uptown, and then rode the subway back home, just to give myself something to do.”

“That’s where you met Herc,” Alex said. “On the subway.”

“And he smelled like a bag of coffee beans,” John affirmed. “But yeah, so I’d be walking, and there was this guy who’d play his sax right outside the Bleeker street station. Every morning when I’d walk past he’d say that to me. _In New York you can be a new man_. Every morning. I don’t know if that was just his thing, if he said it to everyone or what, but it stuck with me.”

“I like it,” Alex replied. “ _A new man_. It has a nice ring to it.”

“Did it change you?” John asked. “Being in New York, I mean. Coming from Nevis. It made me a better person, I think, leaving South Carolina.”

“Yeah,” Alex said slowly. He tasted the words before they came out, making sure each one was what he wanted to say. “I didn’t have a family in Nevis. But here, even before I met you, and Herc, and Laf, and Washington and everyone else, it felt different. I know it’s a big city, but it felt like it was meant for me. Like if I tried hard enough and worked for it, I’d find my family eventually.”

He leaned closer to John. “All this work, and look who the universe fuckin’ gave me.”

“A huge guy who drinks too much tea, a Frenchman, his bomb-ass cookies and his evil cat, and your boyfriend.”

Alex turned and gave him the briefest peck on the cheek.

“My face-punching barista coworker roommate asshole softie shitface boyfriend.”

John smirked. “You want to kiss me, don’t you?”

“Can you tell?”

“Yeah,” John said, coming around to stand in front of Alex, putting both of his hands on his shoulders. “You have a tell, you know, when you want to kiss me.”

“Yeah, right.” Alex raised his eyebrows like he thought John didn’t know what he was talking about. “What is it?”

“You blink.”

“I blink _all the time_ , John, it’s sort of a natural state of living--”

“Sure it is, Ham.”

Alex lunged out, aiming for John’s side with his fist, but John only laughed and dodged out of the way.

“Okay, so I have something to show you. It’s the only reason I dragged you up here at six in the morning, so close your damn eyes and give me a second.”

Alex did as he was told, grumbling and covering the top half of his face with one hand. He couldn’t see anything, he could only hear as John moved around on the rooftop, making small noises in effort as he scraped and pulled something along the ground. 

“What are you even doing?” Alex asked, keeping his hand over his eyes and tilting his head back towards the sky. He stomped his feet once, twice. It was _freezing_. “Wait a second, I’m getting a text.”

“Check it,” John said, “just turn your back first. Don’t you fucking look!”

“I’m not looking,” Alex promised, turning around and pulling his buzzing phone out of his back pocket. He had a few texts, all of them from Herc.

**HERCULES MULLIGAN**

HM: Yooo Ham where are you?

HM: Idk if you and J are at work yet but we’re about to leave

HM: Laf just said he closed the window most of the way

HM: But if you put your fingers underneath it should come back up pretty easy

HM: See you guys down there whenever

AH: thanks herc. see you soon :)

HM: Keep our roof pure

HM: I do yoga up there

“Herc says he does yoga up here,” Alex called over his shoulder. John snorted.

“Hercules Mulligan couldn’t do a tree pose to save his life. Okay, okay, you ready?”

“I’m ready if you are.”

“Okay.” John sounded out of breath, whether from actual physical exertion or excitement, Alex couldn’t tell. “You can look.”

Alex turned, closing his eyes out of habit until he was facing fully towards John. He blinked, and looked up.

The brightness of the morning sun took him by surprise, the burst of light coming through the buildings directly behind John made it hard to see at first. He raised a hand to block it, and took in the scene in front of him.

John was standing next to a huge canvas, and Alex actually had to tear his eyes away from him (him and his windblown curls, and his set shoulders, and the soft, vulnerable look in his eyes), to look at what was on it.

The canvas was well over half of John’s height, and set sideways against the brick box that housed the generators for the apartment building. It wasn’t fully covered, but what was painted was in splashes of color, vivid blues and purples, deep reds, pops of green and yellow that made Alex’s head spin. Interspersed throughout this barrage of colors, so many in so many different shades that they shouldn’t have worked, but they _did_ , were thick black brushstrokes. Squares and rectangles, wide sweeps and tiny lines. 

It was the New York City skyline like Alex had never seen it, a rendering of his home that was somehow simultaneously rhythmic and calm, solid and graceful, chaotic and serene. 

“It’s you,” John said, stepping up to stand next to him, taking his hand once more as they both looked at the unfinished painting. “It’s what I think of when I think of you, anyway. All the colors, with the steadfast city heartbeat running through it, you know? Unmoveable, but somehow all over the place.”

He looked over at Alex, and in his eyes was stark fear.

“You like it?”

“Like it?” Alex shook his head and looked back at the canvas. He never wanted to stop looking at it. “John, it’s incredible. How long have you been working on this?”

“I started a while ago,” John admitted. “Before we got back together, when I was still living with the Schuylers. Me and Maria were hanging out a lot, she started throwing pottery, y’know, for therapy or something, and I started painting at the studio she went to, to keep her company.”

Alex cocked his head. “Maria threw pottery?”

“Yeah, for like a week.” John laughed. “She wasn’t the best at it. But I dragged this canvas home one day and Peggy let me keep it in her room, and every once in a while I’d angry paint all over it. It was great, if I’m being honest.”

“So some of this is John Laurens’ pissed off painting?” Alex asked, approaching the canvas and running one hand over the bumpy, raised paint. “Now I know why you said it was me.”

John laughed again. “I didn’t realize it was you until I moved back in and brought it with me. Remember when I told you I’d burned all my drawings of you?”

Alex did remember. It had been late at night, John was three glasses into one of the bottles of wine they’d stolen from Jefferson’s apartment, and he’d cried. Alex had cried too, and John had told him he didn’t regret a thing about his recovery process, but the drawings were gone forever. 

Coming up to stand next to him, John took Alex’s hand and ran it over one of the black lines that made up the skyline. It was bumpier than the other paint, and felt kind of flaky. John picked something out of the paint, and held it up. A fleck of black.

“Ash,” he explained. “I took it out of the Schuylers’ fireplace after we burned all my shit, and I mixed it with paint. It’s all the drawings, made into something new. _You_.”

Alex stepped back, his eyes prickling as he took in the painting again. He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

Light danced across the open rooftop as John stood next to his painting, shuffling back and forth as Alex just stared. He couldn’t do anything else. He could feel John looking back at him, John, his hair lit from behind like a fiery crown, his hands nervously clenching and unclenching, his shoulders curled against the world and some criticism he thought was sure to be coming.

“You didn’t sign it,” Alex eventually managed to get out.

John shrugged, a tiny microcosm of all the emotions Alex was sure were rioting under the surface.

“It’s not done yet.”

Alex crossed the roof in three strides, cupping John’s face in both of his warm hands and pressing his lips to John’s. They both melted together, a tangle of arms and hair and breath that, if it turned out to be a dream, Alex never wanted to wake up from it. John broke away first, gasping for air at the same time Alex did.

“I guess you like it, huh?”

Alex laughed, forming a cloud of warm air between him and John.

“I guess I do.” He stepped back again, scrutinizing the painting. “It’ll look great in our living room.”

“Yeah, right,” John said. “Like Laf’ll go for a huge painting right on the wall. I think we’re better off--”

“I meant in the future,” Alex said, pressing into John’s side. “Our house.”

“ _Oh._ ” John curled his arm through Alex’s. “What a fuckin’ sap. Already planning out the decor. What kind of fridge are we getting, Mr. HGTV?”

Alex pushed him. “Douchebag Laurens.”

John nudged him right back. “Jackass Ham.”

A gust of wind corkscrewed across the roof, sending Alex and John further into each other's’ arms. Pigeons fluttered by, landing for fleeting seconds on their roof before moving on. It was quiet, the hustle and bustle of the streets below them almost forgotten in the early morning. John leaned his cheek on Alex’s shoulder.

“I swear, we’re gonna live forever.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” Alex replied, smiling into John’s curls as they tickling the side of his face. They both looked out, onto the painting, onto the real city skyline, onto the far reaches of the world after that.

The sky was purples and pinks and yellows, a kid’s fingerpainting of a sunrise. John sighed, and Alex felt it, rumbling deep from John’s chest to his own.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“I love you,” John replied, like he’d been saving it up for a while. “And it scares the shit out of me. Alex Hamilton, how I’d do anything, go anywhere, as long as you’re with me. I love you so goddamn much.”

“You know I love you right back,” Alex said. “You know you make me brave, right? I know I’m loud, and I know I’m full of hot air most of the time, but I’ve never felt more sure of myself than when I’m with you. I feel calm, I feel focused, I feel--”

“Sure as hell not untalkative,” John quipped, and Alex, for the millionth time that day and it was barely sunrise, kissed him. It was more urgent than the other times, quick and heady and intoxicating, the two of them together, working through life with nothing but each other and two pairs of lips. As soon as they broke apart they were back together, deeper and more fierce than before.

John bumped Alex’s eye, and he reared back. “Ow, John, _fuck!_ ”

“Oh, yeah,” John said, out of breath, and poked at Alex’s eye with two fingers. “I almost forgot about this. What the hell happened to you?”

“Burr,” Alex said, grinning when John made a disbelieving noise. “Yeah, he picked me up in Theo’s car and drove all the way to Jersey before punching me in the face.”

“That is the most you thing Burr has ever done,” John said, tracing along Alex’s black eye with his knuckle. “I gotta say, it’s sexy.”

“That’s what I told Burr you’d say.”

“D’you want me to punch him back for you?”

“Do you _want_ to punch him?”

“Hell yeah.”

Alex laughed. “Absolutely not, then. It’s fine, anyway, we talked it out after he hit me. He’s going to be a lawyer with his firm, they offered him a job a few days ago.”

“No shit!”

“Yeah,” Alex said, and John slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. “Burr’s going to be a lawyer, I’m almost done school, Jefferson’s managing Libertwo, Maria and Eliza moved in together, Laf and Adri are talking future stuff… Damn, John. Everything’s changing.”

“Change is a good thing,” John said, bumping into him. “Most of the time, anyway. As long as we don’t go anywhere, I’m good.”

Alex kissed the side of his jaw. “I’m not going anywhere if you’re not.” 

“Thank God,” John said, and his relaxed, peaceful smile was everything Alex needed. “Well, technically, we should be going somewhere, meaning Libertea. I bet Herc didn’t think we’d be this long when he gave you his blessing to hang out up here for a while.”

“True,” Alex said, and untangled himself from John’s arms, rubbing his hands together to eke out some warmth. “I heard Lafayette say something about trying to make vanilla cream croissants, and if I miss them, I’m blaming you.”

“Those sound like the _shit_ ,” John said, and headed over to the fire escape while Alex cleaned up the roof, sliding the painting John had started for him back into it’s hiding place, and scanning over the area one final time.

“It’s beautiful up here,” he said. “Why don’t we hang out here more often? I’d totally join Herc for yoga if he’d ask.”

John rolled his eyes good-naturedly and beckoned for Alex to join him.

“You coming?” 

Alex nodded, going over to the lip of the building as John put one foot up on the ledge, using the iron railing for support as he leaned back, holding his hand out for Alex to take. He did, without hesitation, putting his warm hand in John’s and pulling himself up next to him. Alex glanced back once, at the wrinkles around John’s eyes and his freckle-spattered grin and his hand, safe and sure in Alex’s own, before he turned and began going down the fire escape.

The rising sun cleared the New York skyline as Alex and John, hand-in-hand, headed to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Two years later.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are immensely appreciated if you like and/or want more coffeeshop shenanigans, and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com! I'll see you next week, #OneLastTime ♥
> 
> -Gab


	38. Epilogue: Who Keeps Your Flame?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The squad gathers in Libertea for a three year anniversary celebration.

**TWO YEARS LATER**

  
“Y’all know the schedule for tomorrow?” John called out. He was standing on top of Libertea’s counter, and, as Alex watched from his bar stool, he tossed a crumpled-up napkin towards the milling crowd of four. “Hey! Listen up!”

“Yeah, we got it,” Ethan called back, scooping the napkin up and flinging it back at John with practiced precision. “I open, just like every other damn day this week.”

John dodged, rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and Alex grinned. Ethan Allen was just a few inches taller than Alex, broad-shouldered and quick with a grin. He’d been the first person John had hired, right after Lafayette made him Libertea’s manager seven months prior. Ethan had dragged a tall gangly kid (nicknamed _Tench_ for some god damned reason) into the fold, who, in turn, brought his sister’s friend Molly, who brought her girlfriend, poet-in-her-spare-time Phillis Wheatley. 

Ethan baked with Lafayette when Lafayette was around, and did it on his own every other day. Phillis drew on the tea canisters with Sharpie, yelling across the shop to Tench at the register whenever she thought of a particularly good line or phrase and couldn’t reach her phone. Molly, under John’s tutelage, attempted to tame the espresso machine. That thing still only really answered to him.

They were good employees, even coming in when John called a Sunday meeting. They’d made a home out of the shop just like Alex had done when he was first hired, just like the Libertwo employees had done. John would tell anyone who asked that he hired them all himself, all on his own good judgement, but Alex knew better. 

“What are you doing here tonight, anyway?” Tench asked as he put on his coat. It was mid-fall, after all, and leaves had started to swirl outside of Libertea’s bay window, caught up in a cold breeze. “Don’t tell me there’s some big party and the new kids aren’t invited.”

“Actually, that’s exactly what’s going on.” John said, sitting down on the bar and swinging one leg over Alex’s shoulder. “Your manager and his boyfriend are hosting some old friends, alright, now get out of here!”

“Mr. Lafayette knows about this?” Molly asked, raising an eyebrow. John cackled.

“Mr. Lafayette, as I’m sure you know, Pitcher, knows everything.”

“Don’t ruin my cup display,” Phillis called over her shoulder as her coworkers pushed through the doorway, dragging her along with them. John laughed again, leaning down to give Alex a kiss on his forehead as soon as the door closed, the bells on the handle clanging wildly.

“Fuckin’ kids.”

“You’re not that much older, John.” Alex spun around on his stool until he was between John’s legs, looking up into his eyes. “Even though you’re pretty much an old man.”

“I’m like two months older than you, Hamilton,” John replied, carding his hands through Alex’s hair, untying his ponytail and slipping the elastic onto his wrist. “And I’m not the one who’s ditching this place for an uptight lawyer gig, so shut your damn mouth and put it on mine for once.”

John slipped off of the bar and into Alex’s arms. They twisted together under Libertea’s ceiling lights, alone in the shop. Alex had given Washington his resignation two weeks prior; he and Martha were in the Caribbean for their anniversary, but he’d made time for a Skype call with Alex. 

It had been a long time coming. Alex had been a law school graduate for close to two years; he’d passed the bar, done his internships, and received a well-deserved job offer from Edwards and Greene. Most of his friends were happy for him, including Washington. John and Burr wanted him to stay at Libertea; John so he could make out with him during work hours, Burr so they wouldn’t share the same floor at the firm.

(They both lost out. Alex promised to come to Libertea on his lunch break, and his office was right down the hall from Burr’s.)

John broke away first, leaving Alex limp and out of breath. 

“Someone’s here,” he said, leaning back to peer out of the shop’s main window. “God, I hope it’s Angelica. I let her borrow that movie, you know, the one about the robots, like ages ago. Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake--”

“I can’t believe you start tomorrow,” Burr said, pushing into the shop, barely blinking at the sight of Alex and John together, even though John was sweaty and Alex was breathing more heavily than usual. “And can you two keep your damn hands off each other for once? _God_ , there’s kids here.”

John leaned across the bar as Theo staggered into the shop, weighed down by tinfoil wrapped plates and Teddy, balanced on her hip. Burr reached for her, just as John drew his fist back and rained down coffee beans on the entire Burr family, cackling as the beans scattered, hitting the floor like raindrops. 

Teddy shrieked gleefully, throwing both hands in the air as a bean hit the top of her head. Theo laughed, spinning, and Burr glared.

“Seriously, Laurens?”

“Fuck you, Aaron!”

Teddy laughed almost as loud as her mother. “ _Tuck you!_!”

Burr rolled his eyes, taking the plates from a still giggling Theo and sliding them onto the bar. “This is why we don’t hang out with you. You’re teaching our daughter curses, you’re hitting me in the face with damn coffee beans, you’re--”

“You hung out with us like two days ago,” Alex said, peeking under the tin foil to see what Theo had brought. One was a bowl of salad; mixed greens and thin-sliced steak and peppers and corn, one was a pumpkin roll, and the last was a pan of Jell-O squares. Those were for Teddy, but would be eaten by Herc, Peggy, and, most likely, Alex himself. Jell-O squares were the _shit_.

“You want anything for your first day, Alex?” Theo asked, wadding up the tin foil and tossing it through the kitchen window. “I always pack Aaron’s lunch on Mondays, and I can slip something in there for you if you want. Baby carrots, brownies--”

“Theo!” Burr interrupted, sounding scandalized. Theo grinned brightly at Alex.

“Brownies it is.”

“ _Merde_ ,” Lafayette said, pushing his way into the shop with Adrienne on his heels, both holding bags, plates piled in their arms. “You didn’t bring brownies I hope, Theo, or else two of these bags are useless.”

“Nope,” Theo replied as both she and Alex took plates and led the way into the kitchen. Adrienne leaned over and kissed Alex on both cheeks as soon as her arms were free, and Lafayette just pulled a face from across the kitchen. Gold wedding bands, shiny and new, glinted from their left hands.

Lafayette had proposed to Adrienne over Skype when she was still living in France; Alex had held his iPad as he’d gotten on one knee, and Herc had been his best man when Adrienne had walked down the aisle a year later, after her move to America and the subsequent apartment hunt and wedding planning.

It was around that time that Washington had made Lafayette co-owner of Libertea with him and Martha, giving him free reign to hire and fire, and also giving Washington more freedom to spend time away from both shops. Lafayette had moved into his and Adrienne’s new place, the two newlyweds sharing the uptown apartment with Georges and whoever else wanted to spend the night. Alex and John hung out there a lot; it was conveniently close to both Alex’s firm and the Burrs’ apartment.

Adrienne hugged Theo. “Congratulations on your book! Gil’s told me all about it, I can’t wait to read it!”

Theo didn’t blush, but she did duck her head and turn away slightly. “C’mon, it’s just about parenting. I had a lot of hands-on training, you know, and it was easy to slap it together and send it off.”

“Six drafts of it,” Alex coughed from his place beside the oven. Theo shot him a glare.

“Okay, it was a lot of work,” she revised. “Alex helped me edit it. It’s at the publishers’ now, they’re the same ones that Angelica works with. We have to finalize some design stuff, but they want it out by spring.”

“We’re very proud,” Alex said dryly, ducking the open-handed slap Theo tried to serve him. He’d learned a little too much about parenting from editing Theo’s book, and counted it as a miracle that all three Burrs were alive and well. 

“How’s the agency?” Theo asked, unpacking one of the bags as Alex peered into the others. Lafayette had never stopped baking, even after he got married, and Alex still sometimes found him in Libertea’s kitchen at four, five, six in the morning, playing loud rap and covered in flour. Adrienne pushed a plate of scones to the middle of the counter.

“It’s fine,” she replied. “I’m still trying to recruit Molly, but because she works for my _husband_ \--”

“You can’t have my espresso girl,” Lafayette said, grinning across the room at his wife. “She’s the only one that can work that terrible machine besides John. I keep telling you, just take Hamilton. He’d do it.”

“Not on your life,” Alex shot back, tossing some tin foil towards Lafayette, who dodged it. Adrienne had called up some people she knew in the industry as soon as she moved to America, and eventually had started her own grassroots modeling agency. Her hook was body positivity, and Alex kept seeing her clients, all skin tones, all sizes, all genders, on billboards, bus stops, and subway ads. It was nice, but the few fashion shows he’d been to weren’t very exciting. He went for Adri, though, and he went for Herc, who already had some of his designs showcased.

John had walked at one of her shows, even though he couldn’t keep a straight face to save his life. Jefferson had, too, along with Peggy and Angelica, all wearing Hercules Mulligan originals. Alex was pretty sure that Angelica hadn’t returned the outfit she’d modeled.

“Okay,” John said, leaning through the kitchen window, “we have food, we have like half the squad, we’re still waiting on Tom with the booze, and Peggy and Herc have Laf’s iPad, so…”

“We have fifteen minutes until the commander’s Skyping in,” Lafayette said, holding open the swinging door for everyone to pass through before him. Alex ducked under his arm to get back into the main shop. “I still can’t believe it’s been three years.”

“Three years since what?” Adrienne asked as Theo heaved Teddy up to sit on the bar beside John. “I never did get to hear the reason why we’re doing this thing. I mean, it’s nice, I haven’t seen some of you in ages, but why?”

“It’s the day they met me.” Jefferson breezed into the shop, alone, holding nothing. Adri cocked her head, confused, as Theo rolled her eyes.

“I highly doubt that,” she said, moving aside as Teddy raised her arms and shrieked.

“ _FEFFER!_

“Teddy!” Jefferson quickly shed his coat, throwing it across a bar stool before sweeping the two year old into his arms. “It’s been too long, it’s almost like your parents don’t want us to hang out. I _am_ your godfather and everything.”

Teddy reached up to touch Jefferson’s hair as Burr rolled his eyes in sync with his wife.

“Thomas, for the millionth time, we never--”

“Where’s Angelica?” John asked over Burr, who trailed off, shaking his head as Teddy giggled. “She’d better have my movie. I gave it to her the before she went to Virginia, and it’s been almost a _month_ \--”

“Nice to see you too, Laurens.” Jefferson shifted Teddy to his other side. “And Ang drove, she’ll be in as soon as she parks.”

“James is here too, right?” Lafayette asked. “I know he said something about class.”

“He’d better not fucking skip,” John said. “I’m never calling him _doctor_ if he fucking skips this, Tom, I hope you know that.”

“Mads is with Ang,” Jefferson replied, “and please don’t call him _doctor_. I already have to deal with his arrogant ass, I don’t want him getting worse.”

Alex almost laughed at the thought of Madison being anything but his humble self. He’d moved back to Virginia with Jefferson after completing law school, but had decided to go for his doctorate in counseling psychology. Angelica split her time between New York and Virginia, promoting her book (a grammar dissertation tastefully named _Comma After Dearest_ ) in the city and doing her best to convince Jefferson to sell his family’s house and move into something smaller and more practical. Alex hadn’t been to the house yet, but he had no doubt that that was one argument Angelica was doomed to lose. Jefferson didn’t really do _practical._

“Who’s ass is arrogant?” Angelica asked, hip-bumping her way into the shop, Madison close behind her. They both had bags full of other bags; chips and cheese puffs and popcorn, and one heavy one presumably full of alcohol. “You’d better not be talking about James, or I’m showing everyone all the selfies you take on my phone, I swear to god.”

“Show ‘em,” Jefferson said, and spun Teddy around until she shrieked. “Bless this place with my selfies, Ang, I dare you.”

Angelica scoffed, and passed both her and Madison’s bags over to Lafayette, who added them to the spread in the kitchen. She then dug in her purse, handing John’s copy of _Pacific Rim_ over the counter.

“Liked it,” she said in response to his excited grabby hands. “James thought it was good, too. Thomas fell asleep.”

Jefferson made an offended noise. “They watched it at _eleven at night_.”

“Wow, that’s _so late_ ,” Alex said. “What happened to the three in the morning club nights? Who knew moving back home would make you all suburban?”

“Call me when he trades in that evil purple car for a minivan,” Madison muttered. Angelica laughed, along with Jefferson, who passed Teddy to Madison after she lunged forward towards him, her arms outstretched. 

“And, Adri, Jefferson’s almost right,” Alex said, picking up where they’d left off. “Today’s the three-year anniversary of when some of us met him, although that’s not why we’re Skyping in with Washington and everything.”

“I’d like to think it is,” Jefferson said. 

“It’s the three-year anniversary of the big thing with George King,” John added. “When he tried to get us shut down and Alex Hamilton saved all of our asses with some super sappy video montages.”

“It’s also the three-year anniversary of when I proposed to Theo,” Burr said, grinning as she got on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“And threw up in my decorative fern.”

“I told you, I was _really excited_ \--”

“It’s _also_ the three-year anniversary of when I kissed John for the first time,” Alex said. John dug an elbow into his side.

“Or _I_ kissed _him_.”

“The world may never know.”

“And in the midst of it all,” Jefferson said, “the most beautiful man the world had ever seen walked into their lives...”

Madison rolled his eyes. “Says the not arrogant one in our relationship.”

“I’m perfectly humble--”

“Who are we missing?” Lafayette scanned the shop, phone in hand. “George just texted me, he and Martha are ready whenever we are.”

“Eliza and Maria,” Angelica said, also taking out her phone and tapping the screen. “Peggy and Hercules. Figures, the late ones are related to me.”

“You were late, too,” Burr said.

“Shut up, Aaron!”

The door slammed open, the bells on the handle ringing wildly, and Peggy stumbled through, pulling Herc along with her. Both of them were grinning, Peggy’s lipstick was smudged, and there was a distinct sheen of sweat on Herc’s forehead. 

“Okay,” Peggy said, hiking her purse up higher on her shoulder, “I know what you people are thinking, but we _never_ have the apartment to ourselves--”

John threw his hands in the air. “Fuck, Schuyler, I just Windexed the entire damn place!”

Peggy shrugged. “Whoops.”

She hugged Adrienne and Theo, blowing a sarcastic kiss across the shop to Angelica as Herc clapped Jefferson on the back and held up his fist to Teddy, who slapped it. Peggy had moved into John, Herc, and Alex’s apartment before she’d started dating Herc; Angelica had been spending more and more time away and she’d been sick of living alone. When Lafayette had married Adrienne it was more than natural to fill in the empty space he left behind with Peggy, who’d brought her vast collection of Disney movies, her curly hairs all over the shower floor, and her ability to pay rent. 

She and Herc had danced around each other for ages. Sometimes Alex caught them making out in a corner or the alley behind Libertea, other times she’d deny to the teeth that she’d ever even met him. It wasn’t until her mom asked if she needed to add Herc to the group Schuyler vacation planning e-mail that Peggy realized they were confusing everyone, including themselves. She had confronted him, spilled her guts, he'd spilled his, and they’d been inseparable ever since.

It was nice having Peggy as a roommate. She had a loud mouth to rival John’s, and, whenever Herc was feeling up to it, the four of them took the city by storm. Clubs and dark streets and whipping under and over bridges in rented cars, doing things that Alex would have never done without John by his side. 

When Herc _didn’t_ feel up to crazy nights out, they’d pile on the couch and the floor and order in. They’d put a movie on, but usually just end up watching Herc sew, working on a piece for Adrienne’s agency or something for Peggy. It was therapeutic, watching his needle go up and down, and more often than not the nights ended with the four of them falling asleep, all over each other on the fluffy rug Peggy had bought.

“What do you think for tonight?” Peggy asked, jumping up to sit on the bar next to Alex. She stole a chip off the plate he'd piled high back in the kitchen, and scooped some of Theo's salad onto it. “We bring home some leftovers after this shindig, put on an episode of Cutthroat Kitchen, watch Herc sew that beaded skirt for a while?”

“That sounds fucking awesome,” Jefferson replied. He’d sat on the floor next to Madison, and Teddy was currently playing with the latter’s untied shoelaces. “Count us in. Ang doesn’t want us at her place, anyway.”

Angelica made a noise. “I never said that.”

“It’s too _small,_ Thomas--”

“It is!” Angelica defended herself. “It’s not my fault I only used it as a home base for the book tour while y’all were shacking up in Virginia--”

“Oh my god, Angelica Schuyler just used the word _y’all_.” Peggy slapped her hand over her heart. “She’s gone full Southern. Where’s the iced tea?”

Angelica made a face. “Shut up, Margarita!”

“Yeah, _Margarita_ ,” John said. “And where the fuck is your sister? We need to get this thing going if we’re ever going to get to that Cutthroat Kitchen slash Herc sewing party we were talking about.”

“You just want to go home so you and Alex can make out,” Theo called from her spot at one of the tables with Burr. Adrienne and Lafayette _ooh_ ed at the same time. John shrugged.

“I mean, fair point.”

“Sorry we’re late!” Eliza said, out of breath as she burst into the shop, one arm curled around Maria’s. “Something came up last minute, we were as quick as we could.”

“What’s more important than this?” John called from his place beside Alex, behind the bar. “The squad’s getting together, ‘Liza, I thought you were the responsible Schuyler!” 

“Uh, usually,” Eliza said, glancing back at Maria, who hadn’t stopped smiling since they entered the shop. She held up her left hand, and a gold band caught the light, the small diamonds scattering beams of light across the floor. “But I might have an addition to that last name soon, so…”

“What!” Angelica said, just as Peggy shrieked and almost tackled both girls. Alex followed John as he vaulted over the bar, joining in on the huge group hug that had formed around Eliza and Maria, with Jefferson holding Teddy high over the crowd so she wouldn’t get crushed. Alex fought his way to Eliza in the center of the milling bodies, and she grinned at him, her usually perfect hair wild, her makeup spotted under her eyes, mixed with tears.

“You’re getting married,” he said, and she threw her arms around his neck. She smelled like flowers and dirt and the old wooden floors in her shop down the street from Libertea, and he hugged her back. 

Eliza had opened her own floral shop six months prior. Alex remembered helping her move in, setting up shop downstairs and making a new home for her and Maria above it. Eliza had hired a few people to help her run it, but for the most part it was the two of them; she taught Maria how to make bouquets, how to get her hands dirty in the garden boxes, how to water orchids just right. Alex was there a lot, either failing at making his own mix of flowers for John, or buying one that Eliza had made special for him.

Maria had one year of school left; she was planning on taking her degree in social work and putting it to use in a women’s shelter. After Jefferson moved back to Virginia, Lafayette had promoted her to Libertwo’s manager, and she’d hired a bunch of kids just as good as the ones John hired for Libertea. Before leaving for Virginia, Madison had taught one of them (a freshman from the same college Alex had graduated from named Elijah Clarke) his secret recipe for berry cobbler, and it was damn _good_.

Maria still saw her therapist twice a month, Alex knew, and had started coming over to their apartment a couple times a week to paint with John. Alex had sat in on it a few times, hanging out on the roof as John worked on whatever painting he’d started and Maria threw paint on canvas with reckless, wonderful abandon.

They’d even been featured in a few of Mrs. Ross’s art shows. Jefferson had bought one of Maria’s paintings, a purple and pink and blue abstract mess that perfectly encapsulated Jefferson himself, and Alex had gotten more than one picture message of it hanging prominently in his living room in Virginia.

The painting that John had done for Alex, the city skyline, was currently hanging in the entryway of their apartment. It shedded sometimes, little bits of ash onto the floor, but Alex was more than willing to do a little extra sweeping if he was able to look at the painting every day.

“Hercules, you have my tablet?” Lafayette asked, through all of the noise, and Alex saw Herc’s arm reach across the top of the crowd to hand Lafayette the iPad. “ _Merci, ami_.”

“Welcome,” Herc grunted from somewhere that Alex couldn’t see, past Jefferson and Adrienne and Burr still all crowded around Eliza and Maria. Lafayette unlocked it, typed something in, and a connection noise bubbled over the crowd.

Alex heard the unmistakable sound of Washington clearing his throat.

“Can you hear me?”

“Commander!” Lafayette said, and propped up the iPad on the counter. They all crowded around, John pressed himself next to Alex and Herc was on his other side. On the screen, Washington stepped back to sit next to Martha on a bed; Alex could see a ship’s porthole behind them.

“How’s your cruise, man?” Herc asked. Washington laughed.

“As good as it could possibly be, Mr. Mulligan.” He grinned over at Martha, who waggled her fingers at the screen. Everyone waved back. “I want to hear from all of you. Thank you for taking the time to get together, by the way. I figured it’s been too long.”

“The new kids were all pissed,” John said loudly. “They thought we weren’t including them, which is dumb, even though that’s totally what we’re doing.”

“Have there been any new hires since I’ve been gone?” Washington asked.

“Just one,” Lafayette replied. “A girl, Phillis Wheatley. She’s dating Molly, but they behave themselves.”

“God, you’re such an old man,” John muttered. Adrienne snickered.

“ _C'est vrai, mon amour_.”

Lafayette looked offended. “Adri--”

“And how is everyone else?” Washington asked, interrupting Lafayette. Alex didn’t know if it was because of lag, or if he had genuinely wanted to cut him off. “Biggest news first, but I want to hear everything.”

“You’re all coming with us next time,” Martha said. Angelica and Maria made noises of agreement, and John whooped. Her offer sounded nice, but Alex was pretty sure it was a threat. Her Hawaiian shirt, the same as the one Washington was wearing, sure looked like a threat. 

“I’ll be dead before you’ll get me into one of those shirts,” Peggy quipped. Washington glanced down.

“I thought they were fun?”

“They are, babe,” Martha said, putting her hand on Washington’s arm. Jefferson coughed.

“Angelica went on her book tour.”

“That’s right!” Martha said. “How was it, Ang?”

“Not a big deal compared to something _else_ that happened today,” Angelica said, shooting a glare at Jefferson and jerking her chin pointedly at Eliza and Maria. Martha frowned.

“What happened?”

Eliza grinned, and held up her left hand. Her right was wrapped in Maria's. “We’re getting married!”

The room dissolved into cheers again, most of them coming from the iPad. Martha made Eliza come up close to show her the ring, and the story got told again and again. It _was_ adorable; Maria had made a bouquet for Eliza, and she’d put the ring around the bottom stems. They'd gone on a walk throughout the city, stopping at all of their usual stops, and Maria had asked her right outside the last one, Libertwo's front door. Of course, Eliza had said yes.

They went around the room, each telling Washington and Martha what was happening in their lives, going down rabbit trails, telling and retelling different stories. Teddy had an entire two minute conversation with Washington, telling him very seriously about her favorite color. It was yellow, and Jefferson took video of the entire thing.

Angelica talked about her New York book tour, about the different setups and the different bookstores that had hosted her, Maria assured Washington that Libertwo, despite all of the new faces, was faring perfectly well, Eliza told a story about a wedding she’d designed for the month prior, and how the groom sat on the cake during the reception. 

Jefferson took the Washingtons on a virtual tour around his Virginia home, flipping through all of the photos on his phone until Madison physically made him sit down. Madison went through an account of his studies quickly; he was almost done with his doctorate and Alex could tell that he was uncharacteristically bursting at the seams with pride. Theo talked about her book, Burr talked about a successful case he’d just wrapped up, Herc talked about his designs, Lafayette talked about the new hires at the shop, Adrienne talked about her agency.

Alex sat there, warm from all the bodies pressed around him and especially from John, who was almost sitting in his lap, and listened. He listened to Angelica’s banter back and forth with Madison and Jefferson, familiar and quick and intimate. He listened to Washington and Martha from miles and miles away, their shared laughter and touching shoulders. He listened to Eliza and Maria and their plans for the future.

He took in Burr and Theo’s twined fingers and Teddy on Burr’s lap, Lafayette kissing the arch of Adrienne’s eyebrow when he thought no one was looking, Herc and Peggy kicking each other back and forth, back and forth.

And he leaned onto John, his cheek on John’s shoulder as they sat pressed together, the two of them in the center of all of their friends, their _family_ , together.

“And what about you, Mr. Hamilton?” Washington asked, smiling at Alex through the iPad’s screen, affectionate and paternal from all the way in the Caribbean. “Don’t tell me you and Mr. Laurens are going to drop an engagement on us, as well. There’s only so much excitement we can take in a day.”

Martha laughed and so did everyone else. Lafayette leaned over, jostling Alex by the shoulders, pushing him closer to John. 

“Yeah,” John said, loud and brash, “when are we gonna step it the fuck up and get married already?”

Alex laughed too, laughed along with his friends and reached up, pressing a quick and chaste kiss to John’s flushed cheek. He didn’t close his eyes as his lips made contact with John’s skin, and for a brief, astonishing second all he could see were freckles, stark and brilliant as the night sky.

“Well, Alex?” Washington asked. “Anything we should know about?”

“You know we’re deliriously happy, George,” he said, grinning over at the iPad, grinning wider when John kissed him back, right on the lips, right in front of the entire room. “Wedding plans or no wedding plans, I’ll still be the happiest guy in the whole damn world, you know that.”

John quirked an eyebrow, a shit-eating grin still wide across his face.

“Wedding plans?”

Alex fell silent then, all of his bluster gone in the wake of John’s staggering, luminous smile. For a brief second he saw it, the entire world spread out in front of them, eternities of happiness, theirs for the taking. He leaned into John, shoulder-to-shoulder, and thought about the box in the front pocket of his backpack, the simple silver band he’d picked, the first step out the door into that wide uncertain road, two explorers plunging headfirst into unknown territory. 

He took John’s hand, warm and calloused and familiar, in his own, and looked up.

“Well, it’s only a matter of time.”

  


**THE END**

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT.
> 
> It’s over. I’ve been working on this story, updating every Sunday, since February, and all I gotta say is _holy shit_. (Okay, I have some more stuff to say, but you get the point.)
> 
> So much time and emotional effort went into this work (I cried when I typed the last word, but I do that with every work I finish, full stop), and yet every time I think about it, I’m honestly overwhelmed by the amount of love it has gotten. I appreciate every single kudos, comment, view, bookmark, Tumblr message, tweet, _whatever_. I appreciate all of you guys. You made Soltea Sundays worth it. You _made_ Soltea Sundays, and for that, I’ll always be grateful.
> 
> I’m obviously not the best author in the world, nor do I pretend to be. I’m not Lin, like some people have asked if I am. (For real! God love y’all.) I’m just someone who really loves found family fics, who really loves coffee, and who really loves procrastinating writing her actual novel by banging out 170,000+ (largely unedited) words in ten months. _Holy shit_. 
> 
> I’d like to say thank you in particular to Beth and Julie, for letting me scream and for screaming back to me. You know what the screams entailed. They were mainly Daveed Diggs related screams. (All of you are also encouraged to scream at me, found here in the comments section, or at fihli.tumblr.com!)
> 
> I’m not done with this ‘verse, not by far. I want to write Angelica more, I want to delve deeper into what happened before Washington started the shop, I want to see what Burr and Theo are like when Teddy’s three, and seven, and sixteen. I want to meet the new Libertea kids. And, of course, I want to see how the disaster that is sure to be John and Alex’s wedding would go down. You haven’t seen the last of me, although I am taking a break from fic for a while to work on that novel. You know how it goes.
> 
> (Speaking of the new kids, I headcanon Tench Tilghman as Alfie Enoch, Molly Pitcher as Kimiko Glenn, Ethan Allen as John Boyega, Phillis Wheatley as Amandla Stenberg, and Nathan Hale as Diego Boneta.)
> 
> Anyway, a huge, resounding THANK YOU for being a part of this universe with me. Thank you for giving this story a chance, for giving Georges the cat, the Mocha Shitstorm™, the purple Espada, and _me_ a chance.
> 
> Thanks for choosing Sons Of Libertea, and we hope to see you around. ♥
> 
> Yr obd svt,
> 
> Gab
> 
> EDIT 6/11/17: We have a sequel! DAUGHTERS OF LIBERTEA is now up!


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